


No Happy Ending

by sudaj



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Death, Gen, Original Character(s), Pre-Apocalypse, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-30 05:02:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 80,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14489388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sudaj/pseuds/sudaj
Summary: A mysterious intruder breaks into a Department of Energy research laboratory. Arrival of the Hargroves at Hawkins a coincidence? Kali lives up to her namesake but will vengeance save her? Why investigative journalism is good for the youth of America. Did Hopper really escape unscathed from the spore cluster tunnels under Hawkins? The future of the Project revealed as Doctor Brenner returns.All lead to a fateful showdown on a winter day's in Hawkins, where the girl with all the gifts, Eleven calls home.





	1. Teenage Girl

**Author's Note:**

> \--{ Notes applicable to this and other chapters }--
> 
> 1\. Inspired to write a post-S2 story after reading As the World Falls Down and Shadow of a Thousand Feathers; based on various ideas that were kicking around in my head after re-watching ST S1 E1 & E6 and ST S2 5 & E7 and '80s sci-fi movies.  
> Will say up front, aiming for an apocalyptic ending, via a rather messy, bloody route and less superheroic slant on psi-powers. 
> 
> 2\. What if the Eleven misinterpreted the reference to another psychic child during the mental connection with her mother?
> 
> 3\. Slow. Partly adopting Got POV chapter approach and I'm plain slow.
> 
> 4\. Supposed to be written in British English grammar. Might be mix and match with spellings though.
> 
> 5\. Swearing - check. Violence - yes. Sex - probably. 
> 
> 6\. Chapter 11. Appendices to list references/homages/influences/thoughts though some chapters have end notes ( duplicated in Chap 11 ).
> 
> 7\. {mystery intruder storyline}
> 
> 8\. [2019-mar-28] Events take place just before and after the Snowball at Hawkins Middle School. From the Wiki suggestion of 15th Dec 1984.

_"Don't start none, won't be none" - Cpt Jake Jensen_

**12th Wednesday December 1984**

**Witten National Laboratory, US Department of Energy, North Carolina**

“Shit,” the teenage girl cursed under her breath as one of the wooden double doors swung open at the end of hallway, originally painted yellow but now aged to a vomit-like colour. She was caught in no-man’s land with nowhere to hide, the only other exit, a similar set of double doors at the other end of the hallway, a good fifty yards away.

A man with greying sideburns, wearing a beige-coloured security guard uniform, complete with a campaign hat stopped in surprise at the sight of an another person standing, only twelve feet away, in a hallway of a top secret government research laboratory complex at the dead of night. He took in the slight figure dressed head to toe in black clothes. Kohl rimmed, brown eyes looked back at him through the owl-like balaclava, a tatty messenger bag slung over an oversized biker jacket, leather gloves, straight jeans frayed at the knees and basketball sneakers with the white parts coloured in.

The other side of the double doors opened. Another security guard stepped through. He was blond, smooth-faced and broad-shouldered, with his attention on a large number of keys hanging off his keychain.

"I've a feeling my boys are going to come good in the game this Sunday. If you like you can come over, if your Suzanne will let you,” said the blond guard, as he leant against the door while he fumbled for the correct key. He stopped talking when he realised the other guard had not continued walking forward. He looked up and saw the stranger in black.

“Halt, identify yourself, sir!” The older of the guards called to the stranger.

“Stay where you are!” added the younger guard as he pulled and aimed his Glock at the putative intruder.

The girl spun around and ran back up the corridor. Her slung messenger bag bouncing off her back as she sprinted away. She involuntarily hunched her shoulders as she heard a gunshot being fired.

“Stop! Or my next will be a kill shot!”

The girl ignored the guard’s warning and continued running towards the double doors at the other end of the hallway, leading back to top floor office areas. 

The older guard watched as the younger man took careful aim at the back of the fleeing intruder.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The shooter looked nonplussed seeing the stranger still running further away, slamming through the double doors.

“Shit! How did you miss, Greg? " exclaimed the older guard, as he started forward to chase the intruder, one hand over his hat. He looked back at Greg and ordered, "Come on!” 

Greg shook his head, holstered his gun, briefly looked at his gun hand wondering how he had missed and then followed the older man. He slowed at the double doors to note the height of the bullet holes in the wood. 

He scrunched his forehead, squinted back the way he came and muttered to himself, “Did I really miss?”

“For fuck sakes, Greg! Stop dawdling!”

“Yeah, yeah, Lloyd! Right behind you!”

Greg pulled the double doors closed behind him, slotted the key from his key chain and locked the doors. The intruder was now trapped on the top floor with them he thought grimly.

Lloyd followed the fleeing figure into the larger offices where the middle managers were based. He slowed to a walk as he realised the intruder was effectively boxed in. There was no route to the outside from this part of building, even the windows were sealed on the top floor. The intruder was making no attempt at being quiet as he heard a pile of folders, he guessed, crash to the floor. He wondered why the intruder had not even tried to hide in the main open office area cubicles. Lloyd briefly felt pity for what the stranger would shortly go through under the tender ministrations of the site’s interrogators, Agent Frazier and the lead agent. 

As Greg trotted up along side, Lloyd instructed, “Call it in, an unidentified person about to be apprehended near the lead investigators’ offices."

The security guards found the intruder standing in front of the floor to ceiling window of the large reception area adjacent to the largest offices of the floor. The light from the waning gibbous moon threw the figure of the intruder in silhouette against the glass. Lloyd and Greg slowly walked closer with their guns pointing at the waiting figure.

“Hands where we can see them,” ordered Lloyd, freeing a pair of handcuffs from his utility belt with his free hand.

“Stop!” The intruder demanded.

The men stopped walking forward.

“You’re a girl?!” Greg said in surprise.

“I may appear so. But do you know know what I really am? I’m a secret government experiment. I’ve had …. things done to me by bad men and women in white coats.... in a place like this. Biological agents. Chemical compounds. Electrical doodahs. Radiological isotopes, even. I've been prodded and probed in places no child should ever experience. But now, I can do things no ordinary girl can. I can change physical matter with my mind." 

“You sound more like an escapee from the nut house,” Lloyd replied.

The girl stretched out her right hand towards the guards, clenched her fingers slowly into a fist, the cracking of her joints loud in the silent room, and said, "Sure, it sounds like tosh but it's true. I can squeeze your brain till it runs out of your eyes and ears. I can crack your bones in a blink of an eye. Don't be a mug, walk away and forget you ever saw me tonight." 

Greg and Lloyd looked at each other, both smirked.

Lloyd tossed the handcuffs to the ground near the girl and said, "Little lady, you talk funny. Why don't you put those cuffs on, and then show us how you can break out of them with the power of your mind."

In response, the girl rapidly swung her left arm around. A shiny object glinted in her gloved hand. In unison, the guards fired at the teenager.

The shots from the guards’ guns echoed noisily in the reception area. The window behind the girl shattered, glass shards tumbling down. The teenage girl stumbled back through the opening and fell, disappearing from view. The object in her hand fell to the floor and cracked apart, the staples skittering across the polished floor from the heavy duty office stapler.

“That was some wild shooting, Lloyd,” Greg said. “She really must have been a nut to think a stapler could stop armed men.”

“Hey, it was your shots that shattered the window! You're such a newbie panicking about shooting a girlie,” replied the older man.

Lloyd took off his campaign hat and walked over to the broken window and carefully eased over to look down at the ground outside. He did a double take. Holding the window frame, he leaned further out, looked up and along both sides of the building.

“Uh, Greg, we have a problem. There’s no body down there. She’s …. gone. “

“What do you mean gone?! That was a close range, stationary target. No way, I or even you could have missed completely.“ 

Greg joined Lloyd at the opposite window frame and looked down at the scattered glass on the concrete below, four floors down. He saw the perimeter patrol coming across to take a closer look; he could see one of pair talking into his walkie-talkie. He frowned and looked up to survey the well-lit car park, the grassy boundary interspersed with trees and barbed wire-topped chain boundary fence, some two hundred yards away. The perimeter alarm signalling an intruder on site started to whine.

“No way anyone could have survived a fall this high onto concrete either!” Greg claimed. “And then pick themselves up, run across the car park and over that twenty foot fence that quickly. No way....”

“How are we going to explain what just happened?”

"Shit!" cursed Greg.


	2. Neil Hargrove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whereupon Neil Hargrove's breakfast is ruined both literally and figuratively.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes
> 
> 1\. Swear words and offensive language used.
> 
> 2\. Supposed to be written in British English grammar.
> 
> 3\. { hargrove storyline } 
> 
> 4\. Appendices for list references/homages/influences/thoughts now separate chapter - Chapter 11 Appendix.

_"Uncomfortable silences. Why do we feel it's necessary to yak about bullshit in order to be comfortable?" - Mia Wallace_

**13th Thursday December 1984**

**Ed's Easy Diner in Hammond City, Indiana**

“Hello,“ said a voice cheerfully to Neil Hargrove,” could I share a table with you? The diner is kinda full.”

Neil finished the transfer of pancake and maple syrup to his mouth, chewed deliberately before carefully placing his fork parallel to his plate of unfinished pancakes. Only then did he raise his head to look at the man who had disturbed his breakfast. His eyes narrowed and mouth curled at sight of the greasy haired, bespectacled man in a grey herringbone, single-breasted suit with a burgundy waistcoat, tight over a middle-aged gut. In his left hand, the man held a folded copy of the Chicago Tribune - Neil noted it was today's date - and his right hand was extended out towards Neil in expectation of a handshake. Unnecessarily, Neil glanced past the man's bulk to regard the half-empty diner. 

As Neil opened his mouth for a withering reply the man's wrist watch worn on his right wrist caught his attention. Two deep notches on the bezel of the man's Omega Seamaster; one straight line abutting a semi-circle. Neil closed his mouth, his face remained flushed but anger quickly faded to anxiety, his breakfast no longer sitting easy in his stomach. He reluctantly took the man's hand. 

“I’m John Glen,” the man introduced himself, revealing perfect pearly whites, ”and you are?”

“Hargrove. Neil Hargrove,” replied Neil dutifully. "Please, sit down." 

John grasped Neil's hand and gave it a good crunch - Neil managed to parlay his sudden grimace of pain into a lopsided rictus - before continuing to shake Neil's crushed hand vigorously. He then sat opposite Neil, placing the folded newspaper on the table. Neil reflexively leant back as he caught the intrusive whiff of John's aftershave, reminiscent of tobacco and leather.

A diner waitress with heavy make-up and wearing an overly tight beige, with white trim, uniform clacked over, stood by their table and looked at John.

“Good morning. What you would like, sir? “

“A white Americano,“ replied John, giving the waitress the full benefit of his dazzling smile. He glanced down at her name tag pinned over her abundant chest. “And a good morning to you, Dawn. I would lurve one of your bacon, egg and cheese sandwiches.”

John oogled the waitress’ posterior as she hustled away before turning his attention back to Neil, who had recomposed himself and was sitting up straight, hooking his thumbs together as he clutched the table. John inclined his head and studied the man sitting opposite. Neil felt like a piece of produce being scrutinised and chronicled as the other man's eyes stopped briefly at each facial feature, the clothes he was wearing and the way he held himself. Neil kept his face bland but he felt a bead of sweat trickle down the side of his forehead.

"Well, Neil, are you a local or passing through?" John asked pleasantly, after his appraisal.

"Business trip," Neil replied tersely.

"Nice. How is business these days?"

"Slow." 

"That's not good to hear! Why do you think it's been slow?"

"Accession and consociation issues. Unexpected events delaying implementation of the assigned goals. The right tools always take time to develop, y'know," said Neil choosing his words carefully.

"I see. It seems you have the measure of the issues confronting you, but I guess your boss is giving you grief, right?"

Neil attempted a nonchalant shrug, "You know what bosses are like. They want everything done yesterday."

John guffawed loudly, "Ain't that the truth." 

Relieved he had passed the interview, Neil allowed himself a grin in reply.

The diner waitress returned with John's coffee and sandwich.

"Will that be all?"

"Everything looks fantastic," said John enthusiastically and after a taking deep breath over the food, "Smells wonderful too, Dawn!"

Dawn beamed, "Enjoy your meal!"

"I think I've a chance with that Dawn," commented John to Neil as he watched the waitress moving around the diner.

"Not my type," replied Neil without thinking and immediately regretted his words as he saw John's face darken.

John sneered, "Huh, I can imagine how you prefer yours. Wholesome and fresh. All proper, lithe and exclusive, right?”

"No! I didn't mean it that way, " Neil hurriedly raised his hands in placatory manner and attempted his best apologetic face, "Sorry, I meant no offense."

John stared at Neil. Unable to return the other man's gaze Neil looked down at his unfinished food. 

The moment of uncomfortable silence passed when John's avuncularity returned, "Hey, no harm, no foul." 

John grabbed the ketchup and liberally spread the contents of the condiment bottle over the innards of his bacon, egg and cheese sandwich till only a tiny yellow showed in the corner amidst the red tomato.

"Home, sweet, home," said John mischievously and winked at Neil. He replaced the bread over the ketchup, leaned forward and took a large bite out of the sandwich. Neil flinched involuntarily as the ketchup from John's sandwich squirted over to land on his pancakes. John took another vigorous bite and more ketchup squirted over Neil's breakfast. Neil clenched his fists hard and then noticing how white his knuckles were, quickly hid his hands under the table.

"Do you know, Neil, experts recommend we should eat a good, hearty breakfast. They say it sets up our bodies for the best start to the day. You should eat up your breakfast. Pancakes, eh? They look good."

Neil looked down at the ketchup blobs suffusing with the maple syrup on his half-eaten pancakes.

"I had finished anyway,” Neil lied.

"Suit yourself, but I bet, you insist on your son eating all his food, right? Till his plate is all shiny and clean."

Surprised by the conversational change to a personal topic, Neil blurted, "What?!” 

"You have a look of a family man, Neil,” said John. “Do have any kids?”

“A daughter and, um, a son.” 

“Ah. Lucky guess, on my part, “ grinned John, “How are they doing?” 

"They're doing well," replied Neil cautiously. 

"That's good to hear. You ever go on family outings together?"

"No. Business has been taking up most, if not all, my time."

“That’s a real shame to hear that work is taking over your life. Before you know it, your kids are all grown up and flown the nest, “ said John. “How about this for an idea. Next year, when winter has passed, and the weather warms up, you should take your kids to the funfair. I reckon they have a great time zooming around on the roller coaster, shooting the tin cans for the cuddly teddy bear prizes, having their fortunes read and all that. You may surprise yourself and find you enjoy the fairground too! "

Neil nodded weakly, thinking the opposite. As his head moved in downward motion, he noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that John's left index finger was laid flat on the folded newspaper. Neil realised that he had missed John's sleight of hand, he had turned the newspaper inside out. The article he was pointing to was the recent news - dated a couple of weeks ago - regarding the closure of Hawkins National Laboratory.

Neil glanced back to see John looking at him with a raised eyebrow. Neil took a breath before saying clearly, "Yes, I understand your point. The kids would be easily amused but what would us grown-ups do at the fairground?"

John chuckled, shaking his head.

“Are you always so uptight, Neil? These days the attractions cater from eight to eighty! Myself, I’m partial to the haunted house. I like how secrets are revealed as you visit each room. The skeletons in the closet. The ghouls springing from their shallow graves. The ghosts jumping out through the walls. Maybe it's because I love those old, black and white horror movies. "

"I like those old horror movies too," fibbed Neil. "I like your suggestion."

John popped the last morsel of food into his mouth, finished his coffee and leaned back to regard Neil.

"I remember my first haunted house. The carnival had come to town. A group of us kids had done all the rides and visited all the sideshows. All that was left that night was the main feature, the haunted house from hell. I can't remember why we were afraid to go in as gang or why we made the bet, but I lost and I had to go in alone as forfeit. Thinking back, all the scares in that house were so cheesy and cheap but I survived to tell the tale; I had the bragging rights that summer."

John scratched his stubble.

"You know, Neil, I reckon your son is a chip off the old block and likes horror movies too, am I right?"

Caught by his own lie and having no idea what Billy Hargrove liked watching, Neil offered an uncertain smile.

"Yeah, the time that you spend with your children is important, Neil. Especially the father and son relationship, very important in this day and age. Sharing activities together make good stories for the future."

Neil's eyes widen as inferred John's words.

"Er, I dunno.." he began.

John inclined his head and placed his right wrist on the table. The marked Omega Seamaster seemed to take up all of Neil's vision. 

He gulped, "You're right, you're right. I should make time for my family, especially my son. I've definitely neglected him of late."

John beamed at Neil, like the 'Cheshire Cat' that had gotten all the cream and more. In that moment, Neil knew he wanted to smash John Glen's, or whatever his name was, teeth out with a baseball bat. To watch the man choke and gasp for breath as Neil shoved his incisors, his canines, his molars and even his tongue if he could rip it out back down his fucking throat.

"It was good meeting you, Neil. I've a feeling our paths will cross in the future. Very soon I imagine, what with the pair of us being on the road so regularly."

"Good chatting with you too," said Neil without conviction. 

"Today is a busy day for me. I got things to organise, people to meet," said John, rising from the table, and taking the folded newspaper, "I got to go but have a good day, Neil. I will tell Dawn that you generously offered to pay for my breakfast. Oh, tip her well. She's offered great service this morning."

Neil watched as John Glen sidled up to the waitress, placed a hand on her hip and whispered something to her. She glanced back at Neil as John spoke and giggled at whatever John was saying to her. She jotted something on her waiter pad, tore it off and gave it to John, who looked back at Neil and grinned triumphantly.

"Faggot, " Neil mouthed under his breath.


	3. Kali Prasad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kali keeps her promise to an ex-employee of Hawkins National Laboratory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. What if the blond girl with Kali in Terry Ives' memories was not Eleven - ST S2 Ep 7.
> 
> 2\. According to Season 2 timeline described in http://strangerthings.wikia.com/wiki/Stranger_Things/Timeline 15th Sat December was date of Snowball.
> 
> 3\. In this fanfic, Kali is _not_ a 'nice' person.
> 
> 4\. Swear words and violence
> 
> 5\. { kali storyline } { hargrove storyline } { mystery intruder storyline } 
> 
> 6\. Appendices for list references/homages/influences/thoughts now separate chapter - Chapter 11 Appendix.

_"The Chinese have a saying. Before setting off on revenge, you first dig two graves." - James Bond_

**14th Friday December 1984**

**surburban residence in Aspinwall, Pennsylvania**

A solitary stars and stripes fluttered fitfully on the flagpole attached to a porch column of a timber-framed house. Twin banks of shovelled snow walled the driveway that curved between beech and walnut trees, snow blanketing their branches, to the house. A dirty green GMC Vandura van sat parked on the asphalt, its lights turned off but the occasional low clatter of metal indicated the engine was idling. 

Inside the van, Mick had the heater running full blast but she still felt the icy chill of winter through her thickest clothes. With half an eye on the quiet street, she twiddled the van's radio tuner, running through the AM frequencies to find something other than country music or bible stations. Something cheerful and carefree, something summery, where she could imagine herself sipping margaritas on white sands in the Bahamas. Lusting after the darkly handsome, beautifully built hotties in their tight swimwear. 

".... Prasad ...." Hissed the radio.

Her reverie interrupted and curiosity piqued, Mick fine-tuned the signal and stopped to listen.

".... made his fortune manufacturing and selling South Asian condiments to the English. Together with his wife, he has come to the United States to launch a nationwide appeal to find their missing daughter, Prisha Prasad. Prisha was reported kidnapped from London, England in 1972 when she was just 8 years old. The Prasads believe that there is good evidence that their daughter was smuggled into the United States. They are offering a $5,000 reward for useful information regarding Prisha. Artist's impressions of an adult Prisha have been printed in many newspapers, including our own County Times. The number .... "

Mick turned the inner cab light on, scrabbled for a biro in the glovebox and jotted the phone number on the back of her hand. Kali would be interested that her birth parents were looking for her thought Mick. An unease settled over her as she contemplated the consequences of what she had just heard. Mick frowned as she looked towards the house wondering how much longer Kali would be; her thoughts no longer on sun, sand and hot men.

* * * * *

"That's enough, Axel," commanded Kali. The anguished screams from the woman was getting on her nerves. Normally, the cries of pain and the smell of spilt blood, made her giddy with anticipation for the next part of the proceedings. But not tonight, her brain seemed to be bulging outwards from behind the bridge of her nose, intent on squeezing her eyeballs out of her head. She closed her eyes briefly. It didn't help. The inside of her eyelids were like sandpaper scraping across her corneas and sclerae.

"Okies-dokies, boss!" replied the lanky, mohican-haired man. Axel stepped back from the person he was beating up. Beads of blood dripped from a fielders baseball glove he was wearing on his left hand. He looked critically at his handiwork as if he had just completed a piece of art, before he mooched over to the vinyl storage rack in the corner of the living room and began flicking through the records.

Kali's lip curled at the pathetic sight of the sobbing woman tied to the dining room chair. The torturee's face was blood splattered. Both eyes were swollen with her right eye worst, puffy and closed to a slit, blood welling from a cut eyebrow. She had multiple lacerations lined the right side of her face, parallel open wounds over both cheekbones and a split lip bled freely. Kali wondered if the body blows courtesy of Axel had been a bit much as the woman's breathing seemed laboured. Kali's concern was more to what useful information could be obtained from the bound woman before her inevitable demise later that night rather than her welfare.

"Axel is just getting started. The hurting can only get worst. But I promise I can make your pain go away, if you tell me what I want to know, Ann Summers, ” Kali stated.

The woman shook her head, matted strands of her dark hair swaying in front of her face. She looked pleadingly up at Kali and begged, “Please, no more! Please, don't hurt me any more!”

“Shut up! Listen to me! Let's start again. You were the nurse manager at Hawkins National Laboratory. You were in a position of responsibility. You had access to all records: staff records and our records.”

“Yes, I was the nurse manager at Hawkins Lab, ten years ago! You must know I don’t have access now.”

“I'm aware of that," said Kali, " But you see I think as a nurse manager you probably sat at important meetings. Meetings attended by the major players of the Project. The doctors who devised and performed the experiments on the kids they're imprisoned at Hawkins. I think you must have gotten to know them. Even became good friends with them. Brenner, Frost, Crowe, Gorman and the others. You were still young then, you could have even dated one of the monsters."

"What? No! I never dated any of those doctors! I was already married when I worked at Hawkins Lab. I started a family there; my eldest was born at Hawkins General. Please, I don't understand what you want from me?!"

"I'm asking again. Are you still in touch with your doctor friends?"

"No! No! Those men were not my friends! We have not kept in touch! We were just colleagues at work. That's all! You're already looked through my contacts?! You know I don't have their details!" Ann nodded at the broken rolodex and the scattered index cards on the living room carpet.

"I don't believe you," stated Kali, "but we come back to that."

Kali pulled a chair up and sat down. 

"Please, don't hit me."

"If you answer my questions truthfully, you won't get hurt," said Kali. "You said your work meant you had no contact with us, children. That could be true. As honestly, I don't remember ever seeing you. However, I'm sure the other nurses and doctors talked about their work, about us. For instance, I imagine everyone must have talked about what happened to Seven? "

"Seven? The redhead girl who drowned in the float tank?" said Ann, and continued after Kali nodded, " Yes. People were shocked by how she died in the isolation tank. They said she was calm one moment and then suddenly she started screaming, thrashing her arms and legs. I heard she even managed to smash open her scuba mask against the glass tank. By the time, the support team had pulled her out of the water it was too late. I remember one nurse who was present was so distressed by the incident that she quit Hawkins shortly afterwards.”

“So, Seven spent a lot of time in the sensory deprivation tank, didn’t she? Do you know what her ability was ?”

“I recall Seven was regarded as a prized asset by the executive doctors,” recalled Ann. “But I don’t know what her ability was. There was a strict policy of not discussing the research work outside of the labs .... that included any specifics of your abilities. “

"Not even in your meetings with the doctors?"

"The meetings I attended were about budgets, human resources and maybe estates; I was never involved with any research."

"But you had access to our medical records. Surely you must have been curious and tempted to look us up when you heard these sort of stories. Or someone must have inadvertantly said something .... say at a party."

Ann shook her head.

"Yes, Hawkins Lab was very different from other institutions I worked for. But it was not part of my job to deal with .... patients, so I had no reason to access your details, " explained Ann. "I had no time or energy to be curious while at work, much less attend parties. I had no social life during my time at Hawkins. Until you have own children, you don't realise how incredibly tiring it is. How much babies and toddlers take up of your time. Little ones that wake you up repeatedly at night, crying to be fed. How much washing and cleaning that needs to be done."

Kali scowled and irritably flicked her hair away from eyes . Ann Summers was turning out to be an useless source of information. Everything she had said was consistent with what she already knew and everything else reeked of verisimilitude. The loss of her research materials to the police raid on her home in the abandoned factory in Chicago had been major setback. Kali had hoped this nurse manager would be a breakthrough, a change in her fortunes, as this was the first Hawkins Lab ex-employee of any worthwhile seniority that she had managed to track down. 

Kali hesitated before asking the next question,” Tell me what they said about .... Nine."

"Um, well, despite her angelic looks, the nurses and orderlies were afraid of Nine. They called her Carrie..."

Unbidden the girls' locker room scene from film 'Carrie', where a bloody, humiliated Sissy Spacek cowered in the corner of the shower while the other girls laughed at her came to Kali. The memory blurred, Kali saw Nine cowering from nurses and doctors laughing at her. The burn in her head spiked into a red mist of rage. She rose up swiftly, her chair fell back, and she slapped Ann hard across the face.

"She was just a child! You make me sick! You fucking adults making fun of her!" 

"She hurt them! They would come out with cuts and bruises on their faces and arms, on their bodies even, if their shift involved Nine. Staff left because of her ....."

"Nine was frightened of you monsters! She couldn't help herself! Nine didn't understand what was happening to her!

"I'm sorry ...."

Kali cuffed the older woman back and across the face. Bloody spittle and a loose tooth arched from the torturee's face to splatter against the floral wallpaper. When Kali finally stopped, Ann whimpered as kept her face turned away from Kali.

"It's too fucking late for you to apologise! You were part of the system that de-humanized children! That fucked them up in the name of American national security, misguided patriotism or whatever! Yet, you carried on as if it was normal for doctors to perform their dirty experiments on human beings, on children, for chrissakes! You willingly turned a blind eye and accepted their blood money. How could you have slept at your night in your white picket fence home?!" screamed Kali as she stood over Ann, her fists clenched by her sides.

"Come on, Kali! " goaded Axel, "Smash her face in!”

Axel's boorish words of encouragement knocked Kali back down to her senses. She took a deep breath.

"Go. Make. Yourself. A. Sandwich," instructed Kali, biting off each word.

"Okay, okay, I can tell when I'm not wanted!" replied Axel, as he sloped off to the kitchen.

"The staff knew you two were close, " said Ann softly.

"She was my friend. I remember playing with Nine in .... in the rainbow room." 

Kali felt hot tears well up in eyes. She turned away from Ann and wiped them away quickly. 

“The others,“ Kali said dully,” Tell me about the others that I never met.”

"Um, Ten, like you was not American, she was taken from Hong Kong. Eleven was Terry Ives’ daughter. Right from start she was the favourite of Doctor Brenner."

“That’s all?”

“Er, I don’t understand?”

"The other children, the ones that were numbered from One to Six."

Ann looked blankly at Kali, "When I was working at Hawkins, there was only five children: Seven to Eleven."

"So where are the others?"

"I don't know. Maybe there are similar projects at other Department of Energy research labs?"

"Huh," grunted Kali. Interrogations were simpler before I met Eleven thought Kali ruefully. In the past, all she asked of ex-Hawkins employees was where Brenner and the other doctors were - invariably like Ann, they didn't know - before she leisurely ended their lives as painfully as possible. But ever since meeting Eleven, Kali’s curiosity about the other children at Hawkins had grown. But it hadn't occurred to Kali that other Department of Energy research laboratories could be running similar projects, that there were more researchers like Brenner out there. The throbbing pain seemed to have spread to right behind her eyes. It was getting late. It was time to go back to her original question before finishing off for the night. She pulled out a pill case and dry swallowed a couple of Tylenols.

"This letter that you received recently from the Department of Energy. From a Doctor Everard Read. Warning you about me. That I was killing ex-employees of Hawkins Lab. This Read seems to be new Director of the Project. He was at Hawkins, right?"

"Doctor Read is a woman," corrected Ann, "Yes, she was at Hawkins."

"If Hawkins is closed. Nine and Ten must be elsewhere?"

"Hawkins has closed?" asked Ann surprised.

Kali frowned.

"Doesn't matter. If you weren't friendly with the male doctors, surely your relationship with Doctor Read was much better?"

"Doctor Read?! God, no! If you weren't a doctor, you were nothing to her. She was not friendly at all, unlike Doctor Philips. In fact, the gossip about Doctor Read was kinda hard to believe....”

"Doctor Philips?“

"She was the only other female executive doctor there," said Ann. "I thought .... you would have remembered her. She was the psychiatrist for you ....the children at Hawkins. She was lovely, had nice word for everybody. The other nurses and doctors at Hawkins seemed to like her too. She was the only executive doctor who ever attended goodbye parties for staff. “ 

Ann hesitated and asked carefully, "The other people you ....visited .... the ones from Hawkins, they never mentioned Joanna?"

"Kali, had to see a shrink!" laughed Axel. Kali glared in his direction. He took the hint and sloped off again.

"No, they didn't. You're the first person to mention her," replied Kali puzzled, "I don't recall her at all."

A memory of a half-a-glimpse crossed Kali’s mind. She knelt by the scattered index cards on the living room carpet looking for hard evidence. She picked up an index card with an address label stuck to it.

"Philips, Joanna. A Wisconsin address," read Kali. Looking at Ann, "I knew it! You been lying about your doctor friends!"

"No! No!" cried Ann desperately, " We never stayed in contact after I left Hawkins! It came just this morning, I received a small parcel and a Christmas card from her."

"Where is it?" 

Kali followed Ann's directional nod at the sideboard. She looked at the date stamp on the padded envelope, and tipped out a a vinyl single and a small Christmas card, depicting a solitary robin on a snow covered fence post on its cover. Kali looked curiously at the over sleeve of the single - "Do They Know It's Christmas?" - and the small neat writing of Doctor Philips inside the Christmas card. Kali grinned as this was the breakthrough she had been hoping for since she began her quest of revenge against the personnel of Hawkins National Laboratory. Philips sounded like the perfect launchpad to finding the other doctors, maybe, if Ray Carroll wasn’t lying, even Doctor Brenner. Her exhilaration dulled the ache that was pressing behind her eyes.

"Why would this Philips send you a gift now?" mused Kali," I guess you don't know, right?" 

Ann nodded.

Kali put the index card, single and card from Doctor Philips into a shoebox. Ann looked up hopefully," You promised you let me go if I told you what I know.”

Kali rubbed her eyes with her index finger and thumb, before replying,” I had planned to make you suffer, to enjoy your pain, to listen you to beg for your life before I killed you tonight.”

“No! No! Please! I'm a mother, I have children!”

“But I am feeling merciful,” continued Kali, ignoring Ann's pleas.

Kali took out her Smith and Wesson revolver, the weapon she dubbed 'Trishul'.

“No! No! You promised?! “ screamed Ann. She struggled uselessly against her bonds, her eyes bulging with fear.

“Promise,” said Kali as she took careful aim and shot Ann through the head. She fired again to be sure.


	4. Toni Bridges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Investigative journalism over a McDonalds cheeseburger, fries and chocolate milkshake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Toni Bridges. Name of reporter in news clipping in ST S1 E6 . In this fanfic, an African-American journalist. 
> 
> 2\. School uniform is nod/homage to book series about English boarding school.
> 
> 3\. Dunno if any good but managed to incorporate phrase 'stranger things' into a chapter.
> 
> 4\. Apologies if tenses are all over the place. Supposed to be written in British English grammar.
> 
>  
> 
> 5\. { investigative journalism storyline }
> 
> 6\. Appendices for list references/homages/influences/thoughts now separate chapter - Chapter 11 Appendix.

_"We're in the business of reporting the news, not creating it." - Bill Rintels_

**15th Saturday December 1984**

**McDonalds restaurant, Chicago, Illinois**

Toni Bridges brushed the melting snowflakes off her afro and shoulders as she walked out of the falling snow into McDonalds’ vestibule. She looked around the restaurant. The noise of screaming children, crying babies, clusters of teenagers talking and laughing loudly, the sounds of uniformed workers shouting orders and the clanging of the tills at the back of the restaurant washed over her. She wondered why she had agreed to meet in such a chaotic place and not a quiet, 'mom-and-pop' diner.

Then she saw a hand beckoning to her and the owner mouthing, " Over here! "

Toni slid into the fixed seat at the two-seater table and looked at the stranger across from her. She was a heavy-set African-American woman of late middle-age. Despite, the warmth of the restaurant, her heavy winter coat was buttoned up and faux fur hat pulled firmly down. A McDonalds meal sat in front of her; both the cheeseburger and fries were partially consumed. The lid of the milkshake carton had been removed. Toni noticed it was chocolate flavour. The woman blinked nervously as she looked at Toni Bridges in return.

"You look like your photo in the newspaper," the woman observed and added, "Before we start, I must tell you that I'm a fan of yours."

“The Tribune likes to update our head shots every other year," Toni explained, ignoring the compliment and asked," Faith, is it? You said you had new information regarding the MKUltra project?"

The woman leaned forward and Toni copied her action. "Sssh! Not so loud. I said it's like MKUltra."

"How do you know?"

"You got to let me start from the beginning, " complained Faith. 

"Okay."

"I'm a nurse but I had to retire from full time work because of my back pain. My doctor said it's because of all the heavy lifting I had to do as nurse. He could be right, some of the people I use to lift were like small whales," said the nurse.

"Please, keep to why we are here, my time is short and I've another appointment," reminded Toni.

"I do part-time work to make ends meet, I like to buy presents for my grandchildren. Lovely, they are. A boy and a girl. Girl is real smart too. Maybe she be a reporter like you when she grows up, " said Faith. Seeing Toni's raised eyebrow, she continued, "Right, I do some shifts at the Shallows, you know, the mental hospital, beyond the Heights. Mostly red-eye shifts, y'know. It's pretty quiet, even crazy people need to sleep, right?"

Faith slowly looked around at the other customers before continuing, "Part of the Shallows has been closed down. It's a part of the hospital that I don't have access to but it's at the back of hospital near where I usually work my shifts. Then, one night, when pretty much everyone else is asleep, one my bosses, a stick thin prune, who I hardly ever see usually, suddenly appears, says to me, Faith, my regular have called in sick, I need a favour, could you help in the transfer of one patient to the truck. I can't say no, can I? And I'm keen to find out about this empty part of the hospital, so I follow the boss-lady. But afterwards I realised what she said was weird."

"What so unusual about transfers at night?" said Toni, beginning to wonder if she was wasting her time.

"You're not listening are you! " said Faith annoyed and realising she had spoken loudly, said in a quieter voice, " The transfers happen at dead of night, y'know, two or three in the morning from a part of the hospital that I don't have access to and I thought was unused. Understand?"

Toni nodded and sighed. Time wasters were an unheralded liability of being a journalist, she would give the nurse a few more minutes before making her excuses. At least, Toni thought, my excuse would be genuine, she smiled inwardly at the thought of seeing Drake later in the evening. 

"That first time, I'm excited, like I going to see a valuable treasure, like that Indiana Jones fella. But the area turns out to be mostly empty except for the ward. That first time , I knew we are getting close as I could smell the ward before we got there. It stank to the heavens of you know ....excrement. We walk in. I noticed there's a partition, floor to ceiling, in front of the windows. There’s a half-a-dozen beds with men and women lying in them. All sedated. All lying in their own filth. It looked like the sheets hadn't been changed for a couple of days. I take a peek at their charts as we walk past. That was when I knew stranger things were going on. The men were all were called 'John' and the women 'Jane' followed a bunch of numbers and letters. I say men and women but they all looked so young. I realised later that the first number was their age. So the boss-lady says this one and points at one of the beds. A young guy all hooked up to an intravenous. Then I realise she wants me to push the bed, me with my bad back! But I can't say no, can I? I need this job. So I prayed my back don't twinge on me as I kick the wheel lock and I pull, 'cos I want to take a closer look at his chart. To be honest, once the bed gets going, it's quite easy. "

Faith stopped to take a bite from her burger.

"What did the chart tell you?" asked Toni.

"That's the thing. This is a mental hospital, right? I'm no doctor, but I'm no fool either. I've worked in these sort of places for a long time now. I know my mental health meds. But these were just codes, gibberish to me. First page showed dates indicating at least a few weeks. So I go down and I get my next surprise, when the boss-lady said truck, she meant truck, not another name for an ambulance. The driver helps with putting the kid into the back of the truck. I can see the truck used to be freezer truck, you know, the ones that carry frozen meat, still had the railings for the meat hooks. That's when the boss-lady said right the next one, we moving the whole lot tonight. Of course I was annoyed with her saying it was one patient before! But I can’t say no, can I? I tell you, my poor back, but lucky only five beds that time. "

"Hold on. You never noticed these transfers before while you were working your normal shift?"

"No, all the moving around takes place inside the empty part of the hospital."

"You did this more than once?"

"Sure, you see afterwards as we watch the truck leave, the boss-lady slips me a few yards, but I tell her to not ask me to do this pulling and pushing too often on account of me bad back, she laughed and walked away. I knew this was secret, so I didn't ask her no questions. I guess the boss-lady liked that. After that, she asked me for that favour, more times since. Those times were just one kid, took no time at all, but I only got half a yard. And always same old freezer truck. For a while it was like one of my duties. But over time, little things began to bug me and this last time I got a shock."

"Hold one a bit. When did you start working at the Shallows? Did you ever find out how long these secret transfers have been going on for?"

"I've been there for just over a year. I did figure out that part of hospital had been closed for nearly a year before I started working after talking to some of the other nurses when I had day shifts. That part of the hospital was closed because of cutbacks in funding by the government. Because I don't know who else moved the beds before I did, I was real careful to not seem too curious. The nurses I spoke to all believe that part of the hospital was empty. I never saw those patients checked in though, I'm only involved with them leaving. I guess the answer to your question, maybe at least a year."

"So you never you find out who the other regular was?"

"No. That's why I was careful asking questions."

"So you don't know who else helped in that ward?"

"No."

"This is all very interesting and certainly worthwhile for investigation but what makes you think this is connected to MKUltra rather than some unethical drug trial by a pharma?"

The nurse slurped her milkshake before replying, "Before Halloween, the boss-lady came, later than usual. As we get to the ward I immediately noticed it had been cleaned up, smelled of disinfectant. Then I saw why. There were other people there. A nurse whom I've never seen before. A woman, in fancy clothes, she looked liked Krystal from Dynasty, but with shorter blonde hair. And there's a young Asian girl with her. She's in a school uniform, can you believe that? Wearing a white shirt and an orange tie, but has some brown thing over that tied with an orange belt. And this is the weird bit. The Asian girl looks at me and says, 'Middle-aged, African-American woman. Blood glucose and lipo-protein significantly higher than average. Lower back stenosis.' The woman interrupts the girl in mid-flow by clipping her around the head. I don't hold with smacking children for no good reason. I step forward and the blonde woman slaps me in the eye, her dead blue eyes gives me the chills and I don't say nothing. After that, she ignores me, and tells the boss-lady that two sedated patients could be moved that night. I hear the boss-lady say, ‘Yes, Doctor Read'. I don't think much of the name of at the time but as we walk past the drugs trolley by one of the beds, I notice out the corner of my eye a half-opened envelope, with a letter sticking out with a Department of Energy stamp on it. Weird how memory works right? As I watch the meat truck drive away I remember your article about a lawsuit against Department of Energy in this state. So later that week, I go to the library, find your newspaper article on the lawsuit and what do y'know, there's a Doctor Everard Read as one of the defendants. I was a like reporter, eh, Ms. Bridges?"

"Yes, that's good work," nodded Toni and Faith beamed, revealing discoloured teeth and a missing premolar.

"I remember Doctor Read. Was that only time you saw her and that Asian girl?" asked the reporter.

Faith nodded and polished off her cheeseburger. 

Toni waited for the nurse to finish eating before asking her, " You said little things bugged you and the shock discovery. Tell me about that."

"You see those young people in the beds in that room. They are in a ghost ward, you know? They don't get visitors, 'cos that part of the hospital is all locked up. No parents, no family, no friends. And the care of their basic needs is very poor. It's like they're in another hospital that I only get to visit maybe once a month to bring some of them back to our world. Of course, I can't be nosy, 'cos the greens are useful to me. One day, I'm having a Lucky Charms snack and the back of the milk carton looks back at me. The face of a new missing girl. You ever notice it's mostly white children that go missing? Anyways, I always take a good look, because you can never know right? Couple of days later, the boss-lady comes for the usual task. I walk into that ward, and I get a shock as in one of the beds is a child. I realise she's the missing girl from the milk carton. Then it gets me thinking where all the others are from? They're barely of legal age, eighteen, nineteen. Did they really volunteer to be sedated, drugged up and lie in their .... you know? They've being hidden and no knows where they are. There's no one to care about them, " said Faith quietly, and Toni realised the nurse had tears in her eyes. The journalist reached over to pat the nurse's hand.

"But what can I do? I'm only a retired nurse. I thought about contacting the authorities but then whoever is running this operation would know it would have been me who talked. Now, I think I'm lucky I didn't try to do so."

"That's not true, when it comes to these sort of situations..." began Toni, but re-considered and asked instead, " What do mean lucky?"

"I think I was telling myself all this time this was all legit despite the secrecy. That sometimes to do good you have to bend rules a bit. 'Cos sometimes the people who come up with the rules are idiots, who don't know what real life is really like,” said Faith,” but after seeing that child, I had my doubts. And now, I know for sure."

"You mean the young girl wasn't the shock discovery?"

Faith shook her head. Toni grasped the nurse’s hand, “Take your time, Faith.”

“This last time, the boss-lady turns up, the usual gets done but this time she tells me to leave the bed just outside. I noticed that the truck hadn’t parked right up close to the doors like it usually does. For some reason the change in routine nagged at me. It was two beds that were going to the truck. I realise the back of the truck was facing an empty room, so I figure if I'm quick enough, after the last bed, I should be able to look into the back of the truck. I leave the bed halfway in the door, to slow the driver down, I make an excuse about a bathroom visit and I move real fast. It was some dash, reckon I ran faster than Carl Lewis. I make it the room's window and what I see is so horrible, something I'll will always remember. One side of the truck had the beds, the other side, there were a row of bodies hanging. Dead people. They were hanging off the butcher hooks like chunks of meat. Like a scene from that slasher movie. I saw this for a few seconds only before driver shut the doors."

Toni stared at the nurse, who was obviously upset, one part appalled at what she had just heard and her cynical, journalistic part, wondering how much of the nurse's account could be verified. The journalist gave Faith's hand a squeeze and after a minute or so, said, "I guess that's when you handed in your resignation and contacted me?"

Faith looked up in surprise and said, "I can't do that! If I did that, it would look suspicious. And I can't call the authorities 'cos whoever is running this operation will work out it's me. That's why I came to you. So you could, you know, expose them like you did before but keeping my name out of it."

Toni sat back, puffed out cheeks and expelled the air as she considered her options.

"I'm guessing they don't tell you in advance when transfers are made," said Toni, "and this 'ghost' ward is still up and running right? "

"Yes."

"The younger girl is not there?"

"No. When I next went to the ward she was gone."

"Really? And your 'boss-lady' doesn't suspect you saw the back of this truck?"

"No. At least I don't think so."

"Well, thanks for taking the risk and speaking up on behalf of those poor people. Coming to me was the right thing to do. This does not sound like legitimate drug trial, and something that should be investigated. That business with the MKUltra scientist and Asian girl is curious, I wonder what the connection is."

Faith finished off her milkshake, "I don't need to know what are you planning, Ms Bridges. I'm glad you appreciate the risks I'm taking by telling you this. Oh, I do have something for you."

The nurse passed a heavily creased manilla envelope across the table. Toni eased the envelope open, and took a peek at contents, a jagged cut out of the back of a milk carton showing a face of a young American-African pre-teen and a patient medical chart titled 'Jane-10TT-9G0A-B7FQ-RANC' and the presumed medications, dosage, times and comments. Toni looked down the list of presumed medications, although the words, a combination of letter and numerals, meant nothing to her, they were repeated at intervals. 

"This is the missing girl you first recognised right? Is this her chart?"

"Yes, that's the missing girl, Litzi Danvers, but the chart I swiped was for another girl."

"I got to go, Ms. Bridges, " said the nurse," Oh, I know very early and all. Happy Christmas!"

“Uh, same. Happy Holidays, " returned Toni Bridges, the words sounded inadequate to her own ears. Her mood sombre and reflective as she realised she was not in the mood for her date with Drake Graham.


	5. Sam Owens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam Owens witnesses Martin Brenner's first day back at the Department of Energy, after his brush with death in the Fall of 1983

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Swear words used.
> 
> 2\. { mystery intruder storyline } { hargrove storyline }
> 
> 3\. Appendices for list references/homages/influences/thoughts now separate chapter - Chapter 11 Appendix.

_"No .... I'm in touch with humanity." - Patrick Bateman_

**17th Monday December 1984**

****conference room in US Department of Energy offices, Washington DC** **

Dr. Sam Owens sighed and turned away from the taped interrogation unfolding on the large television. The Witten National Laboratory security guard Gregory Williams was backed up in the corner of the interview room. Tears streamed down his face. His feet scrabbled against the faded blue linoleum floor as if he were trying to push himself through the wall. His frantic hands brushed away from his own body phantasms that only he could see.

From the loudspeakers in each corner of the conference room, Owens could hear the guard screaming, " Help me! For the love of God! Help me! The black smoke! The black smoke! It's cold! It's cold! Its touch is cold!"

In the background, Owens heard the voice of Agent Frazier demanding the presence of medical staff to the interview room in uncouth language.

Owens shifted forward from his leather lined, silver tone swivel chair, placing his arms on the black rectangle table mounted on two marble fonts. Upon seeing the newly decorated conference room with its state of the art video cassette recorder and the enormous television set, easily 40 plus inches, sat on the black wood cabinet with silver trim, for the first time Owens had thought the money would have been better spent on new research equipment and consumables.

"That's some 'truth serum' you administered to Mister Williams," commented Owens to the short-haired, blonde woman holding the video player remote control, " What is it, Everard?"

"I prefer it, Doctor Owens, if you address me as Doctor Read," replied Dr. Everard Read. Unlike the other two occupants of the conference she was standing. She was wearing a broad shouldered, alternating purple and gold striped jacket and wide black trousers. In her caged purple heels, Dr. Read looked more like a fashion model thought Owens. He had commented about how nice the suit looked when he greeted Everard earlier that morning. She had replied 'Giorgio Armani'. Owens took the answer to be the name of her dressmaker or maybe her tailor; Owens was uncertain of the correct job title for a person who made suits for women.

"I don't know. One of my team stumbled upon it by accident. He was working on the plant-like samples you've been collecting from Dimension 5A, " she continued. "He was grinding up the plant cells in liquid nitrogen when he accidentally spilt some of the frozen powder onto his bare skin. He reported immediate feelings of intoxication, dizziness and intense colors that shifted their spectrum around things he was observing in the laboratory.”

Owens' feelings ran the gamut from angry to relief to apprehension . Furious that Read had started her own investigations on scientific work that he considered his jurisdiction without even having the decency to ask him first. She must have implicitly threatened his team of scientists to silence since they had not even mentioned to him that samples had been handed over. Ever since the dog-like monster from Dimension 5A had nearly killed him, Owens had taken valium to help him ameliorate his anxiety issues and to chemically sidestep the nightmares he suffered as a consequence of that night at Hawkins. His scientific enthusiasm for the botany of Dimension 5A had waned considerably. He felt relief that in all likelihood he would be removed as lead investigator of that project. But at the same time, he felt the unmistakable sinking feeling in his stomach as he hoped that Read's plans did not involve trying to regain access to Dimension 5A.

He opted to diplomatically ignore Read's flagrant disregard for professional courtesy, his own queasy gut feelings and chose levity to mask his true feelings.

"Apologies, we've known each other for several years now and I thought maybe we had earned achieved enough familiarity to call each other by our first names. My mistake. Doctor Read, can't you speed past the hallucinations of Mister Williams and pick up from when he's making more sense when questioned," said Owens to his boss. Doctor Read ignored his suggestion and took up her plain black notebook to jot notes with her Mont Blanc fountain pen.

Owens rolled his eyes, looked over at Dr. Martin Brenner for support. Even though he had visited Martin at hospital and later, at the house of one of Brenner’s friends , in the Hamptons, he still suppressed an initial grimace at Martin's horrible injuries. He had heard reports that Brenner's physical recovery had been remarkable for a man of late middle age but looking at Brenner, Owens knew his friend's life had been irrevocably changed from that of an active man. The right side of the doctor's face was a ruin: criss-crossed with scar tissue and skin grafts, extending from the missing right nostril, past small protrusions where his former right cheek was supposed to be to the ragged hole that indicated the former position of his right ear. His white hair on his right side had grown back straggly and sparse. His right eyelid have been sewed shut over an empty eye-socket. Brenner slowly rotated his whole body to face his him; reminding Sam that the extra-dimensional monster had aside from crushing Brenner's pelvis and snapping his left femur, had also broken the doctor's back and he now had metal rods keeping his spine in place. Owens recalled thinking that Brenner was lucky, if one could call sustaining life-changing injuries lucky, to not be paraplegic as a result of his spinal fractures. Brenner sat with an oxygen mask on his lap which was connected to a gas storage tank strapped to the back of the wheelchair. Owens had never seen such a sophisticated, motorized wheelchair that Brenner was sitting in before and briefly wondered how much Brenner's medical insurance premiums were. As he studied Brenner and the wheelchair, Owens became aware of a distinctive low hum emanating from the vicinity of Brenner, but he wasn't certain over the hysteria of the Witten guard being played back on the videotape. Owens suddenly realised as Martin Brenner faced him completely that his face resembled Twoface from the Batman comics, as the left side of his face was unscarred.

"Something amusing, Sam?" Martin Brenner asked.

Owens stopped staring, looked down and then hurriedly looked away from the stump that was formerly Brenner's right hand and half his forearm. He half-wondered if Brenner had deliberately rolled up his jacket sleeve to highlight his partial loss of limb.

"Huh? No! Martin, don’t you agree that watching the full interrogation of these two guards is a bit much? The first guard, Lloyd Jones, really did give a comprehensive account of that night. The second guard I'm certain will back up his colleague's account of what happened at the Witten Lab."

"Doctor Read is, for the moment, interim head of Project Lookfar. If watching the interrogations in full is what she thinks is necessary, so be it, " said Brenner in a mocking tone.

Owens leant back as the pissing contest started. Even after a year apart some things never changed he reflected. He looked out through the chrome glass wall panelling to gaze at the city scape below.

Dr. Read creased her brow in annoyance and replied, "The alterations in perception, cognition and mood was similar to observations with other pyschotropic compounds you tested in your MKUltra days, Doctor Brenner. I imagined as a scientist you would be interested in seeing the effects of a new compound. Though, evidently, I was mistaken and you wish, like Doctor Owens, to remain ignorant."

"Hey!" exclaimed Owens as Read's mild rebuke filtered through his day-dreaming.

"You miss my point. The reports you provided already tell us what happened from, dare I say, a law-enforcement point of view. Our time would have been better spent interviewing the guards directly, to obtain a collective scientific perspective," said Brenner.

"I'm afraid that's not possible."

"Why?"

"Both men are dead."

"That is interesting. How did they die?"

"While under observation in the hospital wing, both men died of ....um, the nurses found them dead on Saturday morning."

Owens raised an eyebrow and said, " Both men were in good health and Williams seemed to be a fitness fanatic. Is it possible both suffered adverse reactions to the same compound?”

“The autopsy and toxicology reports will be made available in due course.”

"Regardless of that result, it sounds like you forgot your basic responsibility to these men in your care," said Brenner to Read.

"What are you talking about? Standard operating procedures were followed," said Read, “ And I might add, protocols you had a hand in developing during you time in MKUltra.”

"No, you did the bare minimum. You didn't even post a round the clock watch for these men did you? Just assigned a nurse who probably had worked a twelve hours shift beforehand? Because these men deserve better. They were American citizens working for the United States Government. We have a duty of care to American patriots who put their bodies on the line in the interests of national security and scientific advancement."

"Doctor Brenner, you are just full of sanctimonious baloney! These guards are acceptable collateral in our war against the Soviets. Need I remind you, a war that we being out-gunned and out-manufactured in the nuclear arena. As scientists working for the US Government we have been charged to provide innovative scientific solutions to bridge that gap. Else, one day we are going to wake up with a Red Army soldier pointing a rifle at our throats."

"I know why we are here. But your approach to medical research is lackadaisical and you are indifferent to your responsibilities as interim Director. How you’ve remained in this position after the closure of Hawkins is unbelievable."

"Evidently your injuries include your memory. The closure of Hawkins research facility was a direct failure, on your part as former director, to appreciate the consequences of your actions."

“Really, Doctor Read? Under the same circumstances, upon discovering life incomprehensibly alien to our own, you claim you’ve would have the foresight to cover all eventualities?”

“You are so full of your own hubris! In the pursuit of so-called 'scientific curiosity' you forgot the primary purpose of Project Lookfar. If you had kept those objectives in mind and not been distracted by some jabberwocky, the Project would not be in such a state of disarray.” Dr. Read jabbed her finger at Dr. Brenner.

"We are scientists. We are paid to be curious. It was not a fictional being. We discovered something very real; an extra-dimensional alien. You think these injuries I have were self-inflicted?! That men and women didn't die at its hands in Hawkins? I can't believe your focus is so narrow that you don't appreciate what this means for the Department of Energy, for our nation's war against the Soviets, or in fact, for mankind."

"Of course, I realise what you, by pure luck, 'stumbled upon' means for the Department and America. But that's not point. The project mission is to develop tools for intelligence gathering and counter-intelligence. For too long, you acted like a Victorian gentleman scholar, thinking the Department of Energy will fund whatever you fancy, regardless of the cost."

"You should read more than Jackie Collins' novels, Doctor Read. It's called scientific serendipity."

Owens briefly wondered if according to the Hollywood view of modern romance that Everard and Martin were on a subconscious level attracted to one another. He shuddered; he put that weird line of thought into a box in his mind, padlocked it and threw away the imaginary key. Instead, he decided to intervene, as the novelty of the Washington skyline was beginning to wane.

“Doctors! Please let bygones be bygones. The agenda of this meeting is to determine if the girl that broke into Witten was indeed the Hawkins escapee Eleven,” reminded Owens. After a tense moment, both Brenner and Read nodded. Read sat down. Owens gestured at the television and Read paused the video player.

“The intruder entered a well guarded complex unseen and was discovered by sheer fluke,” continued Owens. ”Both guards only realised the intruder was female when she spoke during their second encounter at the window outside the investigators' offices. According to the guard Lloyd Jones, the intruder survived being shot in the back and also being shot in the front. The intruder seems to have escaped by falling out of a fourth floor window, some fifty feet above the ground. How the intruder survived the fall was not observed. The perimeter patrol saw nothing as they only arrived when Mister Jones himself was looking out from the broken window.”

“The ballistics report for the slugs retrieved from the wooden doors indicate the bullets did not pass through organic matter. There were signs of canvas material though. If the guards are to be believed the intruder ran in a straight line away from them and did not even attempt to evade gunfire. Not all the bullets from the window site have been recovered. But the ones that were examined again show no indication of having passed through an intervening organic body,” finished Owens.

"Granted all the evidence we have is circumstantial but reasonably, we can conclude the intruder was Eleven. For whatever reason, Eleven has been unable to locate you, Doctor Brenner, with her psionic abilities. Instead, Eight and Eleven have worked together to track you to your former workplace at Witten National Laboratory. Both guards mentioned the intruder was a teenage girl wearing eye make-up. We know from their encounter with the former Hawkins orderly that Eleven was similarly made up," said Read. "The physical data relating to the bullets and the guards' account of her escape suggest abilities beyond the normal. They could be explained by extrapolating what we have observed of said psionic under testing at Hawkins and subsequent actions when you allowed her to escape. Too, the intruder mentioned actions which Eleven has been reported to be capable of. Finally, it can't be coincidental that both guards noted her use of British English slang, indicating time spent with a British English speaker; we know currently Eleven is in the company of Eight."

“You've already concluded that the intruder is Eleven, haven't you? " said Brenner, "Aside from the lack of hard evidence, something about what happened that night doesn’t seem quite .... right.”

“In your opinion?” sneered Read.

“The passiveness of the intruder's interactions with the guards and her monologue about being a government experiment seems out of character for Eleven. ”

“Maybe Eleven learnt the value of subtlety and restraint while in hiding for the past year," suggested Owens, "and her language skills could have substantially improved whilst in the company of Eight's gang."

"Perhaps. But, doesn't it seem strange that Eight and her motley crew were not present that night? " said Brenner, "I imagine the usual protocol of sweeping the perimeter was followed?"

"Nothing unusual was found within a five mile radius," said Read. "Though, the central question reminds why Eleven would break into a well-guarded government installation that's not Hawkins?"

"Assuming the intruder were Eleven, she was looking for me. Or more likely she was looking for information pertaining to where I could be," said Brenner.

"Such information is no longer at Witten or if even if was, it would be under lock and key, right?" said Owens, "All the secured locations were checked?"

"Those places are under combination lock and it is unlikely that Eleven had insider help. The secured locations were examined but the intruder left no obvious forensic evidence," replied Read. "Unfortunately, due to budgetary constraints, installation of closed circuit television at Witten had been deferred till 1986."

"So we don't even know where the intruder roamed inside Witten?" asked Owens.

"No," replied Read.

"How would Eleven even know about Witten?" asked Brenner.

"From examination of the files and photos gathered by Chicago law enforcement agencies on the recent raid of Eight's base of operations, there's a possibility that one of the ex-Hawkins employees she tortured and killed mentioned Witten."

"If you are taking that line of thinking, why didn't she visit Upton? That was my headquarters, if you can call it that, on the East Coast?"

"As Doctor Owens carefully summarised, it was sheer luck, Eleven was discovered by security at Witten last week. The Department's steering committee have authorised that unusual incidences at other National Labs for the past year be reviewed."

"I wouldn't say that wasn't a worthwhile undertaking but .... ," began Brenner.

"You think the intruder was a Soviet agent, then? " interrupted Read, "It has been rather quiet from the Russians regarding their psionic programs."

"No, let's take a step back, before we consider the Soviets. I recall Witten was also your former main base of operations, Doctor Read?" asked Brenner.

"As you well know," said Read, "I had to move after the fire turned a third of the Witten site unusable."

“That's right, when you lost Twelve to the fire two years ago," said Brenner. "If you haven't placed her cubicle next to the radioactive waste area, where the fire started, she wouldn't have been killed."

Read shrugged and said, "Your point being?"

"The point being, Twelve's body was never found."

"The intruder at Witten can not possibly be Twelve. The lack of discoverable remains has always been unfortunate. Twelve did not escape. She died that night."

"You think so? You're interpreted the eye-witness accounts to fit what you want to believe. And, need I remind you, Eleven disappeared without trace and then resurfaced a year later."

"And you are plucking at straws in your desperation to suggest the intruder at Witten was not Eleven, Doctor Brenner. While Twelve's pedigree was redoubtable, her bio-data was inconsistent, I'm of the opinion, that she was just a human. I had planned vivisection work for her as a last resort, but then the fire happened," said Read. "It was premature to assign that girl as Twelve."

"Vivisection!?" squeaked Owens.

"You took the decision to assign her as Twelve," said Brenner quietly, ignoring Owens' outburst, "and again, may I remind you, the documented wide variance of manifestation seen with the others could have meant Twelve was a late developer."

"I don't remember you arguing against her assignation at the time ," shrugged Read and added, "And that's really the point isn't it, our numbers in the Project have always been far too small. I've always argued against selective recruitment but that's no longer an issue."

"What are you talking about?" asked Brenner sharply.

Read grinned toothily and replied, "You can think of that tantalising snippet as my farewell present to you."

"Pardon?"

"The usual procedure for dismissal for someone of your seniority is in front of the steering committee. But I persuaded them that an one to one meeting would be best after your unfortunate mauling and acquisition of heinous injuries. In short, this is where we part ways. Because as of this moment, Doctor Martin Brenner, your services are no longer required by the Department of Energy. Please leave your security card on the table."

Owens leaned forward in surprise at Read's announcement. He quickly glanced at Brenner who seemed to be taking the news of being fired quite calmly.

"You can't be serious, Everard! You invited Martin to attend a meeting with us, after he's been recuperating for months and months from his injuries, only to fire him when he's recovered enough to move out and about? That's fucking callous! Martin has been with the Department of Energy for decades! You would be losing years of expertise and hard-won experience! Letting him go would be a waste of a valuable resource!" said Dr. Owens earnestly to break the uncomfortable silence that had settled in the conference room.

"The Eighties are a time for new thinking and new values. Doctor Brenner represents a bygone era. I very much doubt his absence will be missed at the Department of Energy."

"Has this mode of dismissal been approved and ratified by the steering committee?!" demanded Owens.

In answer to his question, Read pushed a thin folder towards him. Owens opened it and quickly skimmed the documents and then opened his mouth to speak.

"One moment, Sam. One question for Doctor Read before I go. What did I ever do to earn your hostility?" Brenner asked Read.

Read shook her head. She replied,"Don't you think your abysmal record as lead of Project Lookfar speaks for itself? Let me remind you of the highlights. Your test subjects Eight and Eleven have both escaped from Hawkins National Laboratory. Both are running loose around America racking up a list of felonies on a quest to avenge themselves on you. The Hawkins National Laboratory has been forced to close as a result of your failure to properly deal with witnesses and the press. The massive expenditure the Department has incurred as a result of your mistakes; first in covering up your foolishness at the Hawkins middle school that night and for the past year, the continued surveillance of multiple households in Hawkins. Looking further back, the unwanted national publicity around your past work with MKUltra and that prolonged legal wrangle with Terry Ives. You had a temporary stay of execution when Eleven turned out to be so gifted. But then you lost her. Seriously? Did you really think that the steering committee would have reinstated you as head of Project Lookfar?"

Dr Martin Brenner stared at Dr Everard Read. She looked back unblinkingly. Slowly without breaking his gaze, Brenner pulled his identity card from his top jacket pocket and slowly, carefully placed it on the black conference table. Brenner twitched the joystick on the side-arm of his wheelchair. It reversed noisily and trundled towards the conference doors.

Owens turned away from Read's feral grin of triumph and hurriedly chased after his friend and former work colleague to open the double doors for him.

Just outside the conference doors, the men shook hands.

"That was a horrible thing to do to you after your long lay off, Martin, " Owens said, " Are you're okay?"

"Read has always been very ambitious, so getting rid of me was not unexpected," replied Brenner. "I've a feeling I'll enjoy being a free agent."

"It's good that you are taking the news in a positive light, Martin. You've put in blood, sweat and tears for the Department of Energy for decades and you're still recovering from your horrendous injuries. So this break could be a blessing in disguise."

Brenner gave short laugh and answered, "You're a good and loyal friend, Sam. Don't worry about me. I know how to keep busy. I have plans in motion as we speak."

“Sure, glad to hear that. You take care of yourself, Martin.”

Brenner suddenly grasped Owens' elbow and pulled him down, close to his face. He whispered, "The truth is out there."

Owens smiled confusedly but nodded. Again he noticed the low hum from Brenner's wheelchair and wondered how Martin could withstand the whine which set his own teeth on edge.

Owens watched Brenner's wheelchair trundle away towards the elevators before returning to the conference room where Dr. Read was squaring her papers before placing them next to the video cassette in her Gucci men's leather briefcase.

"Is Martin right? You already have a plan to find test subject Eleven?" asked Owens, as Read stood up, closed her briefcase and picked up her bulky Motorola DynaTAC.

"The steering committee have stated that one of my objectives as new director is to clean up the almighty mess Brenner has made of Project Lookfar. Plans are already in motion as we speak. Among those plans are the capture of the Hawkins' escapees Eight and Eleven," she replied.

Read looked Owens critically at his J.C. Penney brown suit over his favourite chequered shirt and red tie, smiled thinly and said, "By the way, the steering committee have agreed for you to take charge of the Witten Laboratory. Your new research projects will be assigned to you when arrive at Witten. And next time, Doctor Owens, when you come to meetings with me, wear a proper suit. Something modern; not tweed or corduroy. And definitely, no pocket protectors or elbow patches.

Dr. Sam Owens smiled wanly at her sartorial recommendation.


	6. Mike Wheeler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike Wheeler shares a bike ride to school with Eleven on the first Monday after the Snowball and inspiration strikes for Christmas Day with Eleven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Most of the Hawkins kids appear in this chapter.
> 
> 2\. Assume Hawkins Junior School and Middle School are on same site.
> 
> 3\. Swear words used.
> 
> 4\. { hopper unscathed? storyline }
> 
> 5\. Appendices for list references/homages/influences/thoughts now separate chapter - Chapter 11 Appendix.

_"He made her feel like more than the sum of her parts." - Rainbow Rowell_

**17th Monday December 1984**

**Wheeler residence, Hawkins, Indiana**

'Mike?'

'El?!....chkurrggh'

The surprise of hearing Eleven's voice close by his ear made Mike choke on his breakfast. He coughed up half-masticated Banana Frosted Flakes and milk. He reflexively turned rightwards, spewing cereal, milk and saliva over Nancy's new persimmon stirrup pants.

"What the shit!" yelped Nancy, standing up quickly and knocking her chair over in the process.

"Language!" admonished their father, peering over his morning newspaper.

"Mike! What's wrong? Are you okay?" asked his mother. Mike quickly looked around the room to make sure Eleven was not actually physically present.

"Mom! Dad! Look! Mike has ruined my brand new pants!" complained Nancy, pointing at the dripping mess of sugary food and liquid on her thighs and knees.

Mike imagined he could see a guilty look from Eleven, as if she was standing in front of him, sticking out of the breakfast table like a disembodied ghost. Mike was sure he could see her face but how could he know that? Obviously, his family couldn't see her. Was it a by-product of his tired brain? After all, he hadn't slept much last night as he had spent a large part of it reading Uncanny X-Men by torchlight under the bedsheets.

He had been unable to sleep. He was still euphoric from seeing Eleven at the Snowball on Saturday night. The slow dances: the smell of her hair, her hands clasped in his and the feel of her body pressed close. The faster tempo dances, where as Dustin had commented he danced like an epileptic monkey and Eleven gamely followed suit, laughing her head off at his moves on the dance floor. Her endearing delight at, what he thought rather mundane, finger foods that the school had laid on for that evening's sustenance. The whole party, complete and together, enjoying each other's company. And the last slow dance of the night, the last lingering kiss, a perfect way to end a wonderful night.

"Mike! You look pale? Are you ill?" asked his mother.

Mike wiped the remnants of his breakfast off his face with the back of his sleeve.

"I just remembered I need to do something at school! First thing before class!" lied Mike.

"You mean you haven't completed your homework?!" demanded his father, lowering his newspaper.

"No, sir! Not homework! It's something else I got to do!"

The commotion unsettled Holly. Her bottom lip wobbled, her face scrunched up as she began to wail. Taking advantage of his parents' attention to his younger sister, Mike ran out of the room.

As he passed his sister walking awkwardly with her wet pants, Mike felt a twinge of remorse, he patted her arm and apologised," I'm sorry, sis."

Nancy huffed in response as she started up the stairs.

Mike dashed down the basement stairs. He looked around his lair, a shadow of its former glory - the result of multiple purges as parental punishment for his misdemeanours of the past year. He checked the bed fort he had made for Eleven over a year ago. She was not there.

"El?" Mike asked cautiously into the empty basement room.

"Mike." It was definitely Eleven's voice. He loved he softness of her voice as it reverberated inside his head, as if it was piped directly past his eardrum, straight into his auditory nerves to his brain.

"El, where are you?"

"I'm in Hopper's cabin, " said Eleven, "I'm sorry I caused you trouble at breakfast. I didn't know it would work. I was so excited to try that I couldn't wait. "

"That's OK. I did say sorry to Nancy, " said Mike, "But how are you .... we doing this?"

"It was good you apologised to her, " said Eleven. Mike glowed at her affirmation of his decent behaviour. Eleven continued, "I was reading comics with you last night. One of the characters gave me the idea to .... to talk to you without having to go through your walkie-talkie. "

Mike wasn't quite sure how he felt about Eleven invisibly reading comics over his shoulder but the novelty of what was happening in the present took precedent.

"Like Professor X?"

"Yes."

"That's awesome, El!" Mike felt the small pleased smile on Eleven' face at his compliment.

"Do I have to speak out aloud to talk with you?"

"I think if we practice you can talk to me without speaking out aloud."

"Cool."

Mike scrunched his brow and pursed his lips, recalling what the comic character could do, before asking, " Are you able to read my mind, too?"

"I can try."

"No!"

"Why, no?"

Mike flushed. Like Eleven's casual admission that she had been observing him without his knowledge, he wasn't quite sure what his feelings were. The prospect of his brain being flipped through like pages of a book made him nervous even if it was Eleven. While he wanted to share his feelings with her, there were certain thoughts regarding her that could quite possibly lead to misunderstandings at best if she read them as it were direct from source.

Mike's train of thought was interrupted when his mother called from the top of the basement steps, "Mike?! You down there? You didn't finish your breakfast! Do you want an leftover Eggo?"

"El? You can see where am I, right?"

"Yes. You're in your basement."

"I'm going to school now. We can talk some more while I cycle?"

"Yes."

"Mom!! I'm going out now!" Mike made sure to slam the basement door loudly.

Mike ran with his chopper to gather speed before jumping on. He hoped he wouldn't bump into Lucas that morning. It was one of those sunny winter ones where the pallid sun hung low in the deep blue sky, casting its feeble warmth on the earth below. As he cycled away from his house, his expelled breath hung in the cold air, slowly wisping away.

Mike became aware of hands tugging on his backpack and an imperceptible dip on the back seat of his bicycle. He could sense Eleven. She was there on the back of his seat. Despite the bizarreness of the circumstances, he felt a rush of elation and joy rise through his body. While not the fulfilment of his mundane day-dream of sharing a bicycle ride with Eleven, in person, this thought Mike was almost as good. He couldn't help but smile broadly, for the first time in a long time, he could feel in his bones that it was going be a great day.

****

Mike cycled down the avenue of trees, through the alternating shade and light cast by the sun, the shift from coolness to warmth on his skin felt exhilarating, he noted the haloes around individual twigs and branches, the faint smell of moist leaves on the breeze, as if all his senses were heightened. Whether a precipitate effect of Eleven's powers or corollary of feeling ebullient and happy, Mike felt perfect. He couldn't imagine what he would be feeling if Eleven was actually on the seat behind him.

As the road dipped, Mike coasted the chopper, he felt Eleven's weight shift closely to him, as if gravity was affecting, for wont of a better word, her astral form.

"El? How can I know .... feel that you are on the back of bike with me?"

"Because I want you to know I'm here."

He felt his breath catch in this throat, as his heart skipped a beat. Did that mean the connection he felt for this special girl was mutual. That Eleven was feeling the same sensations of bliss, that she too was still buzzing from the Snowball. Mike didn't want to ruin the moment by talking about his feelings for Eleven, so instead he wondered about this new development in her abilities. Up till now he had categorised the powers she exhibited in neat little boxes, the primary reference being the Dungeons and Dragons' sourcebooks and assumed he knew the restrictions, the limitations of what she could or couldn't do. It had been a convenient way to make sense of the mind-boggling feats she could do with her mind. But this was real life, Mike thought ruefully, beyond any imaginings of any fantasy or science-fiction writer. He bet his pinky that even Gygax and Arneson never had a girl ride pillion on a bicycle, a girl with psychic talents, the thought made Mike smile inwardly.

"El?"

"You can see around you? The road ahead? The trees thinning out?"

"Yes."

"Could you always touch the people, the objects in .... um, the void, the astral plane?"

"Only once something I touched felt my presence," said El, " The demogorgon."

The recollection of the first entity to traverse the walls between the Upside Down and the Prime Material Plane, as Dustin was wont to call Earth, made Mike involuntarily shiver, taking a slight sheen off his mood.

"But how was it different this time?"

There was a long pause, Mike almost felt he could see the gears of Eleven's mind working.

Finally she said, "It's like an algebra equation. Sometimes, there are different methods to reach a solution."

The analogy took Mike by surprise. He knew that Hopper had provided school materials for Eleven to study, in order for her to attend Hawkins High School next year. He hadn't thought too much about how Eleven was coping or how much progress she was making towards that goal.

"You like algebra?!"

"Yes. I like how the rules fit together and be applied consistently for one answer."

"Is Hopper good at teaching maths?" Mike wondered out aloud.

Mike felt Eleven's giggle. She replied, "Hopper is no good with numbers. I'm better than him. I've worked my way through the few maths books he brought me. Mostly, I watched you taking mathematics class at school. "

Mike wrinkled his brow and asked, "Do you often try to see what I'm doing at school?"

"I follow your maths classes," said Eleven, "The other times, only when I'm bored."

"Oh." Mike felt a little comforted that seemed like a reasonable explanation for remote viewing by Eleven. He made a mental reminder to himself that he should set a good example during those classes, like no doodling in the margins of his notebook or surreptitious extraction of boogers.

"Would you like me to get you a copy of this year's algebra text book?"

"Yes. Thank you." She squeezed his waist.

Mike grinned back at the phantom El.

*****

**18th Monday December 1984**

**Hawkins Middle School, Hawkins, Indiana**

 

When Mike finally reached the bike racks of Hawkins Middle School, the reality of the situation struck him. Great as it was that he had spent time with Eleven, he wished that she was there in person to attend school with him. That they were normal kids.

Eleven noting the change in Mike's mood, touched his cheek.

"Mike, I had a lovely time."

"Me too!"

"Talk with you tonight." El gently kissed his cheek. Mike felt himself blush. Then he felt her presence disappear and he was standing alone amongst the parked bicycles.

Wondering why the outside of the school seemed so quiet, Mike glanced down at his watch.

"Shit!"

Mike made morning attendance register by the skin of his teeth. As he dashed through the empty school corridors, Mike reflected that maybe taking a leisurely detour through town, to prolong the time he had with Eleven, was not the smartest move. He recalled by that point he had forgotten to try to communicate with Eleven mind to mind but spoke out aloud as if she was physically behind him and not psychically. He had attracted a curious look from a Mister Lincoln passing by in a pick-up truck as he pointed out to El changes in stores on Main Street since her last ride through town.

He flopped onto an empty desk at the front of the classroom as Mrs Evans looked pointedly at him over her tortoiseshell glasses.

Mike turned around to locate his friends in the classroom. He immediately clocked that Dustin's bird-nest pompadour of last Saturday was gone. That Lucas and Max were chatting intently. That the first girl, Jennifer, who asked Will to dance at the Snowball was trying to attract Will's attention; he was studiedly looking away, pretending he to be deeply engrossed in his history textbook. Mike smiled to himself. He recalled what the seniors had said about the attending the Snowball. That it changed everything, that it could make you fly, or break your wings.

Mike turned back around and pulled out his history textbook from his backpack as Mrs Evans began the morning roll call.

****

Mike parked his cafeteria lunch tray opposite Will's. He noted that Will had chosen a table furthest away from where Jennifer was sitting.

"Hey!"

Will smiled up from his slab of bread-crumbed fish and fries and looked longingly at Mike's cheesy tomato pizza.

"I should have picked the pizza. I'm not sure that this is even a fish," Will said critically, poking at the rubbery white flesh with his fork.

"If you don't want it, give it to me!" suggested Dustin as plonked himself down next to Will. Dustin's lunch tray had double the amount of food that the others had.

"Swap for your fries, and one of your Handi-Snacks, " countered Will.

Dustin tilted his head, scrunching his face as he considered the merits of the offer, then looked back at Will, "A deal, if you leave me six fries."

"Three."

"Give me that fishie, Byers!"

The transaction of food completed, Dustin set about attacking his pile of food vigorously. In comparison, Will nibbled at his fries, making sure each one had an appropriate amount of ketchup according to size of an individual fry.

Mike glanced around after taking a couple bites out his tomato and cheese pizza slice and asked, "Where's Lucas?"

"Max and him are .... you know, " said Dustin, giving Mike an exaggerated wink.

"What?"

Dustin rolled his eyes and said, "If you of all people don't know what they're up to, what hope is there for the rest of us, eh?"

Dustin nudged Will with his elbow. Will obligingly smirked in return.

Mike looked blankly at Dustin and Will before realisation struck him dead centre between his eyebrows.

"Oh ...."

His friends laughed at Mike's slow uptake.

"Omigosh, were you really were so wrapped with you-know-who at the Snowball that you never noticed anything else? " queried Dustin.

Mike blushed. He mumbled, " I noticed .... I haven't seen her for a year...."

"But you've been talking with her since .... the Gate closed, right?" Will asked, choosing the latter words carefully.

"Hopper only lets her talk to me once a week, " replied Mike, " He's said we still have to be careful. I can talk only if I'm outside in the yard after I checked there's no one around like no parked vehicles. The bad men may still be spying on us despite the Lab closing. "

Noting the absence of irritation in Mike's reply, Will commented," I guess spending time with you-know-who on Saturday evening has helped, huh?"

At that moment Mike realised he wanted to keep the new development in El's powers a secret, at least for a little while longer. He knew if told his friends, Dustin, especially, would be wanting to contact El now during lunch and asking her to do this and that with her new ability and while it would be fun, Mike knew he would feel a little left out. Instead Mike smiled broadly, "Yes."

"Woah, Wheeler, you've smiling again," teased Dustin, " Can this be L-O-V-E?"

"Aw, shut up Henderson!" Mike retorted and awkwardly attempted to slap Dustin from across the table. Dustin leant back out of harms way laughing at his friend's discomfort.

"Hello, nerds. Where's the king nerdster, my brother?" asked Erica Sinclair, coming up from the group's blindside and standing at the end if the table.

"Hello, Erica," offered Will, smiling brightly. Lucas' sister ignored his salutation.

"What're you doing here? Go back to junior school!" exclaimed Dustin, "Can't you see he's not here!"

Erica's eyes widen and said, "Omigosh, I knew it, he's skipped school! Wait till I tell Mom!"

"Don't be silly," retorted Dustin. "He's with Max."

Erica laughed, " You mean, my dummy brother, has wised up and dumped you losers for another nerd?!"

"You're the dummy. Max is short for Maxine. A bona-fide girl. They're an item!"

"Er, that's a bit .... , " started Will.

"Get away! Max?! What girl wants a boy's name?! No wonder she's into loser weirdos!" said Erica incredulously.

"Erica, shut up! Why are you here? " demanded Mike, glaring fiercely at the younger girl.

Erica looked down at Mike disdainfully and tossed a side-seam envelope onto the table," He forgot to bring this to school."

She sauntered away.

"Ah, gawd! She's so annoying!" Dustin complained as he took the envelope and put it into his backpack, "I'll give this to Lucas before class."

"I don't think you should have said Lucas and Max were an item," said Will.

"If you don't call alone time together during recess an item, I don't know what it's called!" declared Dustin. Will shrugged and resumed eating.

Dustin turned his attention back to Mike and grinned lopsidedly, "Until short stuff so rudely interrupted us, we were talking about Mike's you-know-who. Have you talked about meeting up over the holidays?"

"Um, I have an idea about how we could meet up on Christmas Day at, um, Will's house," said Mike.

"Will's house?" queried Dustin.

"My house?" echoed Will.

"Yes! The idea only just popped into my head! Will's family is the only one where one everyone knows you-know-who," said Mike, "It'll be the perfect place. She's never had a proper Christmas before. I don't think Hopper even bothered last year."

"I think Mom would agree to that," said Will slowly.

"Poor girl, no Christmas ever?" said Dustin, his face sad.

"No. That's why I'm going to see Hopper after school and I'm going to convince him that it's a good idea for you-know-who to have Christmas with her friends!"

"Um, Mike you kinda forgot a couple of things," said Dustin.

Dustin started counting off his fingers and said, "One. It's not Will's house. You need to find out first if his mother, Mrs. Byers is okay with your idea. Two. It's Christmas Day. No way are you going to be able to spend the whole day at Will's house without arousing suspicion from your parents. I'm sure even your dad will notice your absence on Christmas Day. Three. Don't get me wrong. I love your idea. I know you really want this to happen for you-know-who but I don't think you have the .... gift of the gab to convince the Chief to see your point of view."

"What?! You don't think I can persuade Hopper? You wait and see!"

"Dustin is right," said Will quietly, "You won't be able to bring the Chief around to your plan. You may even end up aggravating him and make things worse for yourself and you-know-who."

"Hey, I thought you were on board with my plan?!"

"I am. All I'm saying is that you won't be able to convince the Chief to follow your plan."

"Who can? You? Surely not Dustin? " asked Mike perplexed.

"Hey!" cried Dustin.

"No, my mother," said Will.

Dustin and Mike stared at Will.

"That's brillant, Will!" said Dustin, clapping his friend on the back.

"Yeah, that's a better idea than mine," said Mike grudgingly, "Your Mom is the best person to put forward my Christmas plan to Hopper. Do you think she be okay with having more people around? "

Despite not knowing the answer, Will smiled confidently, "You shall spend Christmas Day with you-know who."

The boys grinned at each other.


	7. Lucas Sinclair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas learns something interesting at Radio Shack and has a fight with Erica over family dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Apologies in advance if 1980s cost and terminology re. CB radio and Radio Shack are incorrect.
> 
> 2\. Swear words and possible offensive language.
> 
> 3\. Next post will be 18th June 2018AD ; switching computer operating systems is a major headache.
> 
> 4\. { hargrove storyline }
> 
> 5\. Appendices for list references/homages/influences/thoughts now separate chapter - Chapter 11 Appendix.

_"That's TUBBS: Tough, Unique, Bad, Bodacious. Sassy." - Det. Ricardo Tubbs_

**18th Tuesday December 1984**

****

****

**Radio Shack, Hawkins, Indiana**

Lucas Sinclair almost let his BMX bike smash against the glass front of the Radio Shack as he leapt off. But in the nick of time, his social responsibility to the Hawkins' community kicked in and he grabbed the handle-bar just in time so that his bike gently bumped the shop front. The handle-bars leant against a 'cat missing' poster. But his athletic landing on the concrete sidewalk had nudged his full bladder to near expulsion. 

"Damm you, Dustin!" Lucas muttered, shifting the blame for his intense discomfort to his friend. Dustin had somehow persuaded Jeb from the school kitchen to give him several near expiry date sodas; it being near the end of the school year. Though admittedly it was Lucas' own decision to down three cans reasoning at the time that it was better to imbibe the beverage and have less encumbrance in his backpack while cycling into town after school.

He waddled into the store, keeping his knees together, instinctively knowing it was the best gait to dam any socially embarrassing leakage of liquid excretory waste. 

"Hey, Mister Thompson! " Lucas called to the new owner of Radio Shack. "Please let me use your restroom, sir?! I really, really, really need to go!"

Scott Thompson, peered at Lucas through his pebble glasses. His sunken cheeks and high forehead, with greasy hair parted straight down the middle bore a strong resemblance to the misunderstood villain portrayed by Lon Chaney in the black and white movie of the 'Phantom of the Opera'. The moronic retards at Hawkins School had given him the erroneous moniker of 'Quasimodo' despite, as far as Lucas could tell, Scott showing no signs of a hunchback or a clubfoot.

"Here to collect your repaired TRC-206 CB radio, Lucas?

"Yes, sir! " squirmed Lucas acutely aware that only few seconds were all that remained before the reservoir in his groin would overflow in consequences best not contemplated. "Please, sir!?"

"Oh, very well. Since you have .... technically .... made a purchase," conceded Scott as he lifted up the counter flap and moved the short door aside for Lucas to walk through.

"Go that way. Turn left, the second door to your right and then the next right door. And clean up after yourself!"

"Yes, sir!"

Instinctively, Lucas knew opening his stride to a run would be a big mistake, so he opted for increasing the cadence of his waddle. He reached the restroom without mishap. He unzipped and closed his eyes, sighing ecstatically as he released his waters noisily into the toilet bowl, careless of any splashbacks. Gradually as the torrent subsided into a trickle, he opened his eyes and looked down at a splashy mess.

"Aw, shit!" 

Afterwards, as Lucas approached the front of the shop, he heard a familiar voice. His spirits fell as his recognised its owner, Billy Hargrove. Lucas had no wish to face Billy so he decided that discretion was the better part of valour. However, he was intrigued by the presence of Billy in one of the temples of geekdom, so Lucas inched forward to eavesdrop. He smiled inwardly, he was ‘Stalker’, the best at he what he did, and what he did best was to be stealthy. He pressed closed to the wall, careful to avoid casting a shadow across the open doorway.

“Are you certain these are the right gizmos?” Lucas heard Billy demand rudely of a man at least three times his senior.

“Let me find the manifest,” said the quiet voice of Scott Thompson. Lucas heard the floor creak as the vendor pulled something from the shelf, a thump on the counter, the rustle of papers being turned and various sounds of items being picked up and put down.

“Well?!”

“The delivered items tally with the the order your father, Neil Hargrove, placed. He knows his electronics doesn’t he? Works at Microdyne at Kokomo, right?”

"Huh, my father, yeah," said Billy, the strange tone caught Lucas' attention.

There was a short pause before, before Billy asked, "The gizmos are in working order? They're not broken or anything?" 

“Um, as far as I can tell, they weren't damaged in transit. But if you find a problem, you father can bring back the item or part in its original packaging. I'm sure we can sort out an exchange.”

There was another pause. Lucas wondered if Billy was glowering at Scott from scrunched eyebrows, in attempt to intimidate Scott. Finally, Billy ordered,” Okay, box them up.”

For a brief second, Lucas' heart caught in this throat as he heard Scott walk close to the doorway he was hiding behind. But the owner of Radio Shack didn't walk through. Instead, he reached through to grab a large empty cardboard box. Lucas then heard items being placed into the box. A ‘snickt’ sound followed by the waft of acrid smell of tobacco indicated Billy, most likely, had lit up a cigarette. Eventually, he heard several instances of adhesive tape being unspooled from its roll, the snip of a scissor cuts and the gentle, pat and smooth of something being applied to a surface.

“There, handle with care,” said Scott.

"Hrrr,” Lucas heard Billy grunt as presumably the box was bulkier then expected. Heavy steps walking away, then the sound of the clapper striking the sound bow of the door bell as the shop door opened and closed.

Lucas peeled himself away from the wall and counted ten ‘open sesame’ before walking through the doorway to behind the counter area. His sudden appearance, made the owner of the Radio Shack jump.

"O Elbereth! I forgot you were back there!” Scott exclamined, holding his chest. He wrinkled his brow and added, "You took a long time, no?"

Lucas smiled brightly," Yes, sir! I was holding back a lake."

Scott eyed Lucas shrewedly but said, "You be wanting your CB radio?" Scott walked away and turned right at the doorway into the storage room of the shop.

"Yes, please," said Lucas, "I thought I heard, um, Billy Hargrove, a moment ago, in the shop?"

"Yeah, he was picking up an order for his father," floated back Scott's reply from the interior of the storage room.

"Really?" Lucas leaned against the doorway and asked casually," What did his father order?"

Scott appeared with Lucas's CB radio in hand and grinned, "Being nosy, eh?"

"No, no, just making conversation. Um, 'cos we didn't say very much when I first came in."

"Mister Hargrove said the items were for home security. Though, I didn't realise his property was that large," said Scott. "Round the front, young man, you're a customer after all."

"So it was a big order?"

"Hmm, yeah, each trigger had its own battery pack, so heavy too. Mister Hargrove is an electrical engineer from what I understand. He could be using the parts for some kind of crazy home project in his garage."

"Yeah, crazy engineer, " replied Lucas, " So how much for the repair?"

"Didn't you look at the estimate? That'll be fifty dollars, please."

Lucas hadn't forgotten the cost of repair but he had hoped for a small miracle, it being close to Christmas and some kind of belief that higher powers were sympathetic to the unjustness of this whole sorry situation he found himself in. That somehow the price would have come down between the actual quoting of a replacing the broken antennae on his CB radio and the work itself. He watched with a lump in his throat as his hard earned savings from a summer of mowing neighbours' lawns disappear into the till drawer of the cash register. Erica, his sister, had a lot to answer for. About week after Eleven, or Jane, as Chief Hopper insisted the boys ( and Max ) should call the former Hawkins National Laboratory escapee, appeared and saved Hawkins from the depredations of the Mind Flayer, Lucas became aware that his TRC-206 was missing. He had thought he had misplaced it somewhere during the excitement of the aftermath of the firing of the tunnels and Will's recovery and so had resigned himself to admitting its loss to his parents. But then his mother, while cleaning his sister's room had found the CB radio with a broken antennae stowed at the bottom of her largest toy chest. Worst still, his mother had blamed Lucas for being careless in allowing Erica to break his radio. During that little lecture as Lucas fummed helplessly as Erica stood grinning smugly at him from behind his mother's back. 

"These CB radios are not toys, " chided the new owner of Radio Shack," You should take care where you put them down."

"Yes, sir," said Lucas meekly.

While Scott, rang up the receipt, Lucas grabbed his his repaired CB radio from the counter. He felt relief as the antennae pulled out smoothly. He picked a channel, and spoke into the receiver, "Dustin, Mike, Will? Are any of you receiving this, over?"

The walkie talkie crackled briefly, then he heard Dustin's voice, "Good to hear you, Lucas Sinclair! You're back in the land of living, over." 

Lucas grinned widely. Indeed it was.

 

*****

**18th Tuesday December 1984  
Sinclair residence, Hawkins, Indiana**

Despite pedalling like a bat out of hell, Lucas was still late arriving at home. He slewed his bike onto the asphalt driveway, and noticed immediately a burgundy Ford Fairmont parked in front of his parents' house. Lucas wondered who could be visiting on a school night. He made ready his list of reasons for being back home late from school and briefly considered I was with my new - probably - girlfriend, Max and lost track of time excuse was probably too early to employ as he had not quite plucked up the courage to mention this new development in his personal life to his family.

He left his BMX in the garage and walked through the kitchen-garage door into the kitchen. His mother and sister were in the kitchen. He watched his mother shave extra cheddar over the mac and cheese. His keen eyes noticed the pesto had been spooned into a creme brulee dish and the scrunched up wrapping of the Gruyere cheese on the kitchen counter, both sure signs that the Sinclair household was welcoming guests into their home.

Erica upon seeing Lucas chanted, in a sing-song voice," I know your secret!" 

Erica had started being annoying since yesterday afternoon, after school. Her continued baiting had ruined his good mood he had from school. She was probably bluffing. In all likelihood, she had randomly decided on the spur of the moment to wind up him by pretending to know she knew his secrets. Stupid sister. He often wished Erica was an Eric. Though, of late, he mostly day-dreamed of how he could have dealt with Erica, like Max did with her step-brother, Billy. A stab from a syringe full of sedative seemed to have worked wonders on their relationship. Apparently, since that night in the Byers' cabin, they had ignored each other since. That seemed like bliss to Lucas. Half-heartedly, Lucas took a swipe at her. Erica easily dodged and stood next to their mother.

"Hey! Behave! Your father brought a guest home for dinner tonight!" admonished Mrs Sinclair. 

Erica stuck out her tongue at Lucas and mouthed " I know your secret!" She skipped out of the kitchen.

"Hurry and wash up," said his mother, as she stuck the mac and cheese under the grill. Lucas licked his lips in anticipation, the crunchy burnt bits were the best part of his mother's mac and cheese.

"Okay."

As Lucas walked out the downstairs bathroom, he bumped into their guest and stared at the stranger in the hallway of his home. While he was not as tall as Lucas' father, he was wide of shoulder and slim of hip, attributes accentuated by his clothes. A slate grey single-breasted suit, black shirt and a pink tie. Lucas had never seen anyone wear a pink tie before, let alone an African American wear one. Lucas could smell the waft of cologne. The man was looking at a sheet of paper in hand. It slowly dawned on Lucas that the stranger was studying his Dungeons and Dragons character sheet. He had out of paranoia at Erica's light-fingerness taken the repaired walkie-talkie into the bathroom with him and had, obviously in his haste, left his backpack open by the hallway table. 

"Hello, you must be Lucas," said the man, holding out his hand, "I'm Miles Dyson."

The man smiled and Lucas' eyes was drawn to the man's faintly luminous, even white teeth. 

"Yes, sir," replied Lucas shaking the man's hand but staring at his teeth.

"I hope you don't mind me taking a look at your player character, " said Miles, indicating the sheet of paper. "Your ranger has some nifty weapons. 'Dainsleif, once drawn must kill before being sheathed.' Nasty but nice."

"Our Dungeon Master, Mike, has Swedish family. They've send him books, folk tales about Norse mythology, some have cool pictures of trolls," replied Lucas. Hearing his own words, Lucas wished he had said something else, more sophisicated and less geeky.

"That's real cool," said Miles, "One day, when I'm no longer upto my eyeballs in debt, I like to go to Europe."

He looked at the walkie talkie in his Lucas' hand and asked, " You always take a TRC-206 with you to the bathroom?"

"Eh?" Lucas managed inelegantly, looked down at his hand and added hastily, "No!"

He was confused by this man who dressed like a fashion model but knew about roleplaying games and CB radios. It was like the natural order of things had been inverted, that interests and hobbies considered geeky and nerdy were acceptable to the rest of society, maybe even popular. 

{ Sometimes Lucas day-dreamed that Hollywood one day would make movies about the comic book heroes he read. }

Erica bounced into the hallway. Her smirky presence poured cold water on Lucas' musings.

"Hey, Mister Dyson! Dinner's ready! " Erica said brightly. Noticing the player character sheet in Miles' hand, she added, "My brother plays that nerdy game with his loser friends!"

Miles slipped the sheet back into the players' handbook, smiled encouragingly at Lucas. "Good for him. It's a great game."

Erica frowned at the unexpected approval for a losers' game as she saw it and disappeared back into the dining room.

"Coming?" Miles asked, looking back at the stunned Lucas.

"Sure," Lucas followed, after slipping the walk-talkie back into backpack and zipping it up.

His father looked up from his plate, "Hurry up, son, before Erica eats everything up!"

"Very funny, Dad!" Erica said, "But Lucas is the piggy-wiggy of the family.""

"Erica!"

Lucas ignored Erica's comment about about his prodigious appetite. He heaped mac and cheese onto his plate. He added sauteed sausage, roasted broccoli and a side of lettuce, onion, tomato salad to his plate. He placed a splash of pesto on the side. To Lucas' eye it looked a little like the Devil Mountain in Wyoming. Only then did he attack his stack of food, glorious food.

"Mrs Sinclair, " said Miles. "This mac and cheese is fantastic. Its been a while since I sat down for a family meal."

"You have brothers and sisters?"

"No, just my mother and myself. But because my mother worked two jobs, after school, I often had dinner with my five cousins, my sister's brother's kids. As you can imagine dinnertimes at my uncle's place was boisterous."

"Where was your Dad?" enquired Erica.

"He .... passed away when I was in junior school."

"What did he die of? "

Erica's mother cut her daughter a stern look which Erica didn't noticed but Miles did.

"It's okay. It was a long time ago. He was killed by a truck driver, who had fallen asleep at the wheel."

"That's terrible! How did you ...."

"You started at MicroDyne this week? Why start a week before the holidays and not wait till next year?" asked Mrs. Sinclair, interrupting her daughter.

Miles replied, "I like to say I was keen to start work but to be honest the decision was purely pecuniary. The company were generous enough to allow me to pick my starting date. I'll get a bit more pay come January payday."

"Student loans," grunted Mr Sinclair knowingly.

"Yeah."

"Will you be going back to California for Christmas, then?" asked Mrs Sinclair.

"No. I will meet up with my mother in Chicago next Monday. I'm sure we can find a hotel restaurant for a Christmas Day meal."

"That's a terrible way to spend Christmas! We don't you bring your mother to our home for Christmas dinner! We love that wouldn't we, dear?"

"Sure," Mr Sinclair nodded.

"Great!" said Erica.

"Are you sure?" queried Miles, " We wouldn't want to impose on you."

"Not at all. Christmas is about sharing, right hon?"

"Sure," said Mr Sinclair.

"I'll tell my mother about your kind offer and see what she says."

"I hope she says yes!" declared Erica.

"So, what are you working on at Microdyne?" asked Mrs Sinclair.

Miles glanced at Lucas' father, who nodded slightly, and said, "One of the projects I'm working on involves developing the interface between human muscle and metal infrastructure. My role is more to do with communication between the machine and living tissue. The work is done in collaboration with medical centers in Illinois. They're interested in applications of this technology with regard to prosthetic limbs."

Lucas cocked his head to the side, and asked, "You're making cyborgs, like Rom SpaceKnight?"

Miles chuckled, "We are a long way from that! We're just starting out. But yes, I suppose one day in the future something like Rom could be possible."

"That's such a cool job!"

Erica frowned at the exchange between Miles and her big brother. She asked, "At school, you were popular right?"

"Far from it. Being a member of Science Olympiad, Chess Club and Varsity Writing doesn't help with the popularity stakes," chuckled Miles.

"But you don't look like a nerd?!"

"Erica!" her mother said warningly.

"Well, he doesn't, does he?"

"What do you think a nerd should look like?" asked Miles politely.

"Someone who's ugly. Has no taste in clothes. Probably wears glasses too, " explained Erica, "Y'know, like my brother and his loser friends are good examples."

Lucas opted to keep his mouth full of food and say nothing.

"Erica! That's a mean thing to say," her mother said sharply, her voice going up an octave.

"What you describes sounds a lot like me when I was in middle and high school," replied Miles.

"No!" said Erica in disbelief, "You're joking right?!"

"Erica, love, people go through a lot of .... um, changes when growing up," said Mrs Sinclair.

"But how can Mister Dyson be in job doing nerdy things, looking like that?"

"Say something!" demanded Mrs Sinclair of her husband. Mr Sinclair looked up from his food, scrunched his brow at being asked to multi-task during a meal. He was quiet for a moment.

"Erica!" said her father. His daughter surprised by her father's authoritarian voice looked at her father directly.

"What do you think I do at work?"

"You're a manager, you tell other people what to do!"

"Yes, but what do they do?"

"Umm?"

"You've seen my degree certificate in my study. Can you remember what it's for?"

Erica blinked hard and said softly, "Engineering."

"That's right. I'm a nerd, and proud of it. It pays for this food on your plate, the clothes on your back, your toys in your room, this roof over your head."

"No!"

"Face the truth, Erica!" said Lucas, delighted at the turn of events and determined to prolong his sister's shame at the realisation of her reality, "You're born into a nerd family. It's in the air of this house. You're saturated in it. You can't help but breath it in and be infected! One day, you're going to be a nerd, too!"

"No! But Mom, she isn't a nerd!"

"Maybe, maybe not, but she married Dad. She .... loves nerds." Their parents looked at each other, both thinking that never in their wildest imaginations that the fruit of their loins would be having such a discourse over a family dinner. Miles Dyson sat back watching the entertaining exchange between between the Sinclair kids. If Christmas was half as entertaining as this, it would be a memorable one for sure.

Erica looked between Lucas and her father. Then she giggled "Oh, like father like son!"

"What?!"

"I know your secret!"

"You're just saying that. You know nothing!"

"I do! Dustin told me himself!"

Lucas scoffed, " Now I know you are full of bull! Dustin and you dislike each other!"

"No! He couldn't help himself! He told me that you're seeing a girl," said Erica triumphantly.

Lucas stared at Erica. Why had Dustin not told him that he told Erica about Max? Almost immediately he realised the fallacy of blaming his friend. How was Dustin to know that Lucas himself had not yet told his own family about Max.

"Oh! At the Snowball, you asked that nice Sophie to dance, Lucas? " asked his mother, with a small smile.

"Um," hedged Lucas.

"No! His girlfriend is called Max! A girl with a boy's name! Imagine that!" said Erica mockingly.

"I don't know a girl called Max," said Mrs Sinclair; looking at her husband, "Do you?"

"I don't know any girl called Sophie," said Mr Sinclair.

"The Campbell's girl!"

"Oh, her," said Mr Sinclair, "No, I can't recall a kid called Max, male or female."

"Max is short for Maxine!" said Erica, "I bet she's got buck teeth, thick glasses and a face covered in big, red spots."

"Erica! That's very mean!" her mother said sharply. 

Erica shrugged, "Losers attract losers." 

Lucas had enough. He retorted, "She's looks nothing like that! She's really pretty!"

"Maxine Mayfield? As in Neil Hargrove's stepdaughter?" asked his father suddenly.

"Yes," said Lucas.

"She's not .... ? " began his mother. Her husband shook her head and she stopped.

"Well, why don't you invite her over for Christmas dinner, so we can see for ourselves! " said Erica.

"Okay, I will!" said Lucas impulsively. 

"Maybe I should invite her and the Hargroves for Christmas dinner too? " pondered his mother out aloud, "They're only been in Hawkins since October. I'll probably run into Mrs Hargrove at the church social tomorrow." 

"Sure," replied his father.

Lucas and Erica glared at each other. Both wondering why this felt like a stalemate rather than a clear victory for one of them.


	8. Toni Bridges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary
> 
> The investigative journalist follows up on Faith's tale of mysterious hospital ward in a mental hospital. She reflects on a night when the sh*t hits the fan after a fateful encounter with one of Hawkins National Laboratory's former experiments, Nine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Longer than usual chapter. 
> 
> 2\. Apologies for any mistakes with regard to culture, technology and geography eg. guns, Chicago, US geography, roads, shopping bags.
> 
> 3\. Graphic depictions of violence and private bodily functions gone awry.
> 
> 4\. Liberal use of bad language.
> 
> 5\. { investigative journalism storyline }
> 
> 6\. Appendices for list references/homages/influences/thoughts now separate chapter - Chapter 11 Appendix.

_"Well, graphic. The best and clearest way that I can phrase it for you, to capture the spirit of what we air, is think of our news cast as a screaming woman running down the street with her throat cut." - Nina Romina_

**19th Wednesday December 1984**

****

****

**Carney Irish Pub and Grill, Chicago, Illinois**

Ever since an ex-lover, who hailed from Scotland, introduced her to scotch whiskey, Toni had developed a taste for single malts from Islay, replacing her previous love for vodka. Ewan with his cheeky grin and sexy Scottish accent that made her go weak at the knees. They had met at a social function held at the Carlton-Ritz to honour the great and the good of the Chicago elite. She had attended the event as a guest of her editor. She had been sampling the wide array of canapes laid around an intricate ice sculpture of a swan with outstretched wings when Ewan amused at her expression of disgust at her first taste of bird's nest sweet soup made a vulgar comment that made her laugh. They had spent the rest of the evening together making indiscreet asides 'sotto voce' to each other while they mingled with the other functionaries. He seemed extraordinarily well-connected, knowing many of the attendees on a first name basis. After that night, it had seemed natural to be together, despite their very different backgrounds and lifestyles. He the only child of a wealthy Scottish landowners killed tragically whilst on safari in Kenya. She a daughter of parents who each worked three jobs in Detroit to provide enough for their family. He employed by an 'imports and exports' company, Universal Export, while she a journalist for a respected newspaper, the Chicago Tribune.

One Labor Day weekend, Ewan had taken her out of the United States to the Scottish Borders. The sheer indulgence of such a trip on short notice still shocked her; flying out on business class the Thursday before and then returning the following Tuesday. The journey across the pond had been perfect, she always enjoyed watching the vast expanse of clouds underneath the passing jumbo jet with the steady hum of its engines in her ears. When they arrived in Scotland, she had been surprised by the clear, blue skies during her time there. Her expectations of low grey skies and constant drizzle dashed - Ewan generously claimed she had brought the glorious sunny weather with her. They had travelled around on his Triumph motorcycle he had kept in storage on his country estate. Until she had crossed the Atlantic, she had never appreciated how different summer light could be in different parts of the world. Over there, it had seemed soft and flattering, caressing one's skin just so while back home it seemed harsh, unforgiving and brutal in comparison. When she saw her first view of flowering heather upon moorlands near Jedburgh under the setting sun, the skies mimicking the purples and lilacs of the flowers below, it had stirred something deep within her, that sang to the unsullied, romantic part of her soul. She wished she was there now, instead of sitting in an Irish pub in Chicago, she discovered by chance, that served Islay single malts, albeit at eye-watering prices, and stayed open twenty-four seven.

Toni tossed back the remnants of her drink in the whiskey tumbler, tapped the glass hard on the pockmarked bar surface to attract the attention of the bartender, Shane. He had been very quick to introduce himself to her when she had first entered the establishment. She quickly learnt about his life in a small town in County Mayo, his time in the Christian Brothers school, the unnamed brown-eyed girl who broke his teenage heart, the joy of travelling on the N17, the lack of prospects in Ireland that lead to his emigration to the land of the brave and the free, the moniker he was fond of applying to America and saying it with such conviction and sincerity that Toni kept quiet, loathed to be the one to disabuse him of his naivety.

"Bad day at work, eh?" commiserated Shane.

"Yeah, don't you know it!?" returned Toni.

"Anything you want to get off your chest? Good listeners, us bartenders."

"I wish I could, but afterwards I would have to drown you in a barrel of Guinness,” replied Toni dryly. 

"I think I'll enjoy that!" Shane laughed at her banter as he poured her another shot. 

As he left to serve a rowdy group of out-of-towners, she realised Shane was right. She did need to tell someone about the events that had occurred almost twenty hours earlier. It was one hell of a story she had to tell. 

The disclosure of illegal activity reported by the mental health nurse, Faith had intrigued Toni enough to cancel her Saturday date with her current lover, Drake Graham. He had thrown a strop at being stood up a mere thirty minutes before a meal at Alinea, one of the swankiest restaurants in Chicago. Toni disliked the immediacy of the cell phone. Having to deal with the histronics of a spurned date over a portable phone was not something she was used to. In hindsight, she should have asked the restaurant to pass a message to Drake rather than phone him directly and worse, cut him off when his entreaties to reconsider began to bore her. 

Afterwards she had immediately contacted Jack, a freelance photojournalist, though he preferred the more dramatic name of 'nightcrawler' to describe his occupation. Upon meeting Jack for the first time, his sharp nose, facial twitches and jerky movements reminded her of a rat in human form, a first impression that initially failed to inspire Toni's confidence. But the nightcrawler had turned out to be one of the more enterprising and reliable photographers, Toni had worked with. He had been agreeable to an act of unlawful entry into the Chicago Mental Hospital. It had not surprised Toni when Jack brought a copy of the original building plans of the hospital to their meeting on Monday, held in the back room of a quiet diner and he had already reconnoitered the land around hospital buildings. She had agreed with his suggestion of entering the the main hospital building through the basement and to do so under the cover of darkness that Tuesday night.

They had met up, thirty minutes to midnight, at the furthest point away from the public hospital gate of Chicago Mental Health Hospital. Jack wore a brown leather jacket, with two oversized and bulging pockets. He worn a white shirt untucked outside formal dress pants. He carried his Nikon camera bandolier style. He also had a sling bag. Toni held her tongue on his electic clothing choices knowing the precarious lifestyle of a freelancer meant food and rent took precedence over sartorial considerations. She was dressed in black, all named brands of quality and finely tailored: bomber jacket, jeans and low-cut boots. The pauper and the princess thought Toni.

They had brazenly climbed over the fence that surrounded the hospital. The withdrawal of government funding had meant the exterior fence had fallen into a state of disrepair. At their point of entry, away from the main gate, whole sections of the barbed wire coils at the top had been removed, presumably stolen to order, making their climb relatively straightforward. According to Jack the frequency of the security patrol had been reduced to one walkaround at the start of their night shift at seven in the evening.

Toni knew the Chicago Mental Hospital had large, beige-coloured walls and multiple rows of barred windows with grinning gargoyle heads spaced at regular intervals around the top of the building. A flat grey roof had been installed in the recent years, giving it a look of grey icing on top of a layered cake from a distance. As they approached, the occasional screams and moans echoed from the main building, a few windows were lit up on each floor. The deserted wing was the only part of the building where no lights were seen. 

Toni recalled standing outside a basement door, its white paint cracking and peeling off to reveal its former blue colour, shining a torch for Jack while he jiggled the padlock with his lockpicks. It had been her last chance to bail, to forgo the opportunity to confirm the Faith's rather fantastical story about illegal clinical drug trials with a dash of MKUltra. But to walk away, to remain ignorant, was contrary to her own nature. Now in retrospect, she wished she had.

****

The hospital basement was a twisty maze of little passageways. Jack and Toni soon realised their building plan of the hospital basement was more of historical interest rather than a useful map. The original corridors and rooms had been rerouted or blocked with variety of piping and valves associated with air handling, heating and water. The walked through rooms and corridors filled with bric-a-brac of medical origin, in various physical states, running the gamut from well used to broken and rusted: beds, trolleys, stands, wheelchairs, monitors, surgical lights and such like. Eventually, they found the lift that ran up through the deserted hospital wing but it didn't work, so they took the stairs. 

They soon found each stairwell door to each deserted level was padlocked. Fortunately, the internal doors of stairwell to each floor had a long panel of glass which they carefully cut out and picked the padlock through the resultant hole in the door. They alternated lock picking duties. It was slow going. They worked their way up the levels, checking each floor of the deserted wing of the hospital. 

One the first floor they discovered that the usual directional buttons had been replaced by an electronic number pad. Having no idea of the passcode, they had to carry on using the stairs.

"I hope this is worth it, " muttered Jack, as they climbed the stairs to the top floor, the fifth, after confirming the previous floor was empty. Toni didn't reply as she had much earlier that night begun to have doubts the nurse's story. Every floor they had visited had been empty aside from the detritus of former occupation. The only curiosity was the new electronics by the lift on the first floor. They found that each floor had access to two sets of stairs; one by the elevator and the other at the opposite end of each floor.

The smell of fresh disinfectant as they broke the glass panel of the stairwell door to the fifth flour excised Toni's doubts. 

"This is it," said Toni as she unpicked the last padlock, unhooked it and carefully pulled it back through the hole in the door. Jack nodded and pulled his Nikon F3 camera around. As they walked past the elevator doors by the stairs, Toni noticed the elevator on this floor had an electronic number pad like that installed on the first floor.

They turned the corner, the chemical smell became stronger. Toni felt like gagging on the strong antiseptic smell that pervaded the floor. A series of doors ran down both sides of a corridor. They noticed a pale light shining from under the fourth door down, about halfway down the corridor.

They paused at the door to the ward to listen but heard no movement from inside. They eased the door open slowly.

Inside Toni and Jack found the ward that the mental health nurse, Faith, had described. The ward was lit by a pair of lanterns left on small tables on opposing sides of the room. The candles inside of the lanterns, cast flickering shadows on the walls and to Toni's mind, lent the spectacle in front of them a moody eeriness redolent of discovering a treasure trove, like that found by adventurers in fantasy stories. There were half a dozen beds; each bed with a single person wearing a hospital gown, seemingly asleep but more likely sedated. Each person was hooked up to multiple intravenous drips running to a peripheral line on the back of their hand. Toni looked at the intravenous bags for a couple of the individuals and recognised one of the bags containing nutrients for feeding intravenously. One of the intravenous bags was hooded with a black cover.

"Light sensitive drug," said Jack, noticing Toni's curiosity.

Looking closely at the individuals lying in the hospital Toni saw they were young and all seemed to be female with their hair roughly clipped short. She picked a bed at random, a brunette, pale and thin, her cheeks sunken in and the veins on her skinny arms prominent. Toni aimed her torch at the brunette's medical chart. It was entitled "Jane-18QK-JI6S-7ETR-0A6C" followed by a long list of presumed medications, dosage and date and time. Toni had shown a doctor friend, the list of presumed medications that Faith had given her. Her friend confirmed they were not any currently prescribed drugs in the United States medical system and guessed they were maybe new formulations being tested in a clinical trial run by a pharmaceutical company. Toni took out an index card where she had scribed the names of the secret drugs and compared the list to the girl's medical chart. The drug names on the index card all appeared on the girl's medical chart.

Jack put down down a lens cap on the drugs trolley as he started to take pictures of the ward, and of each patient in the beds. The pop of light, and the characteristic whine of the recovering speedlight punctuated each shot he took. After taking obligatory mugshots and different angled viewpoints of the beds in the ward, he started taking more detailed shots of one of girls. A blonde. Detailed shots of her intravenous lines, her rather threadbare hospital gown and close-ups of her thin, pale face. Despite the noise and movement, she did not move or stir, indicating the likelihood that she and the others were drugged.

"This is weird shit, alright!" said Jack.

Toni looked at the medical chart of another of the sedated girls, dark haired and dark skinned, a Latino, Toni guessed. Again called Jane and if Faith was correct, nineteen years old. Like the brunette similarly emaciated. She noticed that drugs were given to this girl were the same as the other girl's. She swiped the Latino girl's sheet and compared her given medications to the other comatose girls. They were all identical. She kept the girl's chart; folded the paper and put it into her leather jacket. 

 

'Bing'. The elevator lift bell signalled its arrival on the top floor.

Alarmed, Toni and Jack looked at each other before in unison, they both ran out of the ward. On impulse, Toni grabbed a partially filled, cable-tied clinical waste bag; it was very light. They turned in the opposite direction, away from the elevator and stairs and managed to reach the corner of a T-intersection. Both journalist and photographer peeked around to see who was coming up the corridor to the ward containing the sedated girls, both trying to keep their breathing as quiet as possible after their sprint.

A blonde woman wearing a fashionable blue jacket suit, black top and black pumps, strode noisily into view. Toni recognised the woman as Doctor Everard Read, one of the named defendants in the civil case brought by Teresa Ives, several years ago. Almost skipping beside her, a small Asian child wearing a brown jacket with an insignia on her top left pocket that Toni couldn't quite make out. Behind the two, a thin woman, almost a senior citizen, and a man with greying hair, in the white uniform of a male nurse. Following up in the rear, a tall, dark haired man and another blonde woman, both wearing dark grey suits. 

"What's a kid doing in a place like this? " muttered Jack. Toni shook her head.

The strange group entered the ward. Moments later Toni heard the high pitched voice of the Asian girl, " Caucasian female, young adult, increased cerebral blood flow and new cerebral invaginations. Blood pressure above average."

"That one, " said a commanding voice, Toni assumed it was Doctor Read's.

"What's this?" asked a male voice.

"That's a lens cap!" replied another a female voice, " Someone else has been here!"

"Shit!" whispered Jack.

"We got to get out of here!" urged Toni.

The blonde woman in the dark grey suit walked quickly out of the ward. She looked up and down the corridor. She held a handgun, pointed down, in her hands.

Jack pulled Toni back. He pointed at the fire escape exit behind Toni and whispered, "Go that way! I'll distract them."

He grasped Toni's wrist and put two film canisters into her hand.

"We split up. I'll show myself so they're think I came here alone. I made that mistake back there. I'll be the hare for their hounds," explained Jack. Before Toni could counter argue, he stood up, squared this shoulders and then stepped forward into the view of the blonde woman. 

"Hey! You! Stop!" Toni heard the woman call to Jack. 

"Please, don't shoot!" Jack replied. Toni saw Jack raise his hands slowly while stepping sideways closer to the other corridor rather than the one the blonde woman was standing in.

"Hey, stop moving!" shouted the woman.

Jack shot a quick side glance at Toni before sprinting away. A gun shot rang out. Toni involuntarily shied at the noise and pressed herself close to the wall, her heart pounding hard. It had missed Jack. Moments later she heard running footsteps of someone coming down the corridor. She saw Jack run towards the door leading to the stairs on the opposite side of the fifth floor. He hunched over the padlocked door; Toni knew he was trying to pick the padlock by the pale moonlight that shafted through the nearby windows. The blonde woman in the dark grey suit ran into the T-intersection, unaware that only a few feet away Toni crouched in the dim light.

"Stop!" the blonde woman demanded of Jack, taking aim at him with her gun. Toni recognised the gun as Smith and Wesson Model 459, a common standard issue firearm for government agencies.

Jack knocked the opened padlock away, it fell with a loud clang onto the floor and he pushed his way through the door. The chasing woman cursed and followed him.

After the chasing blonde woman went through the stairwell door, Toni pocketed the film canisters, and managed to squash and squeeze the clinical waste bag into her jacket pocket too; whatever was inside was very soft and pliable. She ran to the door leading to the fire escape. To her surprise it was unlocked. The door opened onto a metal gantry. It rattled noisily as she put her whole weight onto it. She stopped to let the rattling subside and walked gingerly down the first flight of steps. Each of her steps made the structure wobble and shift alarmingly under her feet. Something was seriously wrong thought Toni. About halfway she stopped descending and looked over the railing of the stairs. She gulped. The fire escape from the ground to the third floor had been cut away. The ground below was concrete. Under the circumstances, she couldn't risk jumping from the fourth floor and risk a broken leg on landing. As she surveyed at the ground below, she noticed a truck parked below. About fifty feet away. Like Faith had described, it was the type of vehicle used to carry meat carcasses from abattoir to butchers and supermarkets. The exterior lamps on the walls of the hospital shone onto the back of the truck. Toni was able to make out the vehicle had a Iowa plate. She memorised the vehicle registration plate.

Toni continued down to the fourth floor gantry of the partial fire escape. She sighed with relief as the door opened. The fourth floor was quiet. She wondered where Jack was. Had he gotten away from the chasing blonde woman? If Toni were a gambler she would have laid short odds that the man and woman in dark grey suits were associated with the federal government. The veracity of the mental health nurse's story had been verified in spectacular fashion. Were the sedated girls upstairs really part of some new government experiment, or a continuation of Project MKUltra, despite the government protestations it had been discontinued? Why was an Asian girl in a school uniform even there? Multiple questions ran through Toni's mind. She took closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She needed to concentrate on the here and now, on her current predicament, to escape from the Shallows, preferably unnoticed. Her options were limited. She had to hope there were no more dark suited men or women present in the hospital looking for intruders on either set of stairs or on the floors of the deserted hospital wing. 

She opted to take the stairs running alongside the elevator as that in theory would mean a better chance for her to remember the path to the basement door Jack and herself had entered. 

 

*****

Toni was lost in the basement of twisty maze of little passageways. Her descent down the stairs had been uneventful. No one was waiting by the basement door. The only difference from before was that all the lights in the basement had been turned on. She had managed to work her way, she reckoned in her inexpert opinion, to mid-way point in the basement, before she heard voices of the suspected government agents close by, further up the passageway. Uncharacteristically, she had panicked and turned tail and took a random route without at first memorising what was she doing until it was too late. She had only taken several turns but it had been enough to confuse her recollection of her earlier route. 

When she heard no agents in the vicinity and her wits and nerves re-collected to a steady state of alertness, Toni opted to take it slow, after all, the chasers were expecting only one intruder, Jack. She assembled a pile of detritus in corner and started to map the basement using the back of the medical chart she had acquired earlier. She hoped by walking further away from her designated starting point and mapping carefully, that sooner or later she would come across one of the rooms or corridors Jack and herself had walked through earlier. 

At a grey walled corridor that turned ninety degrees into one lined with pipework on one side, Toni thought she remembered the discoloured green metal plate with numbers suffixed with 'psi' on the wall facing the pipes. As she pondered whether to walk back to her starting point or carry on down the corridor, she felt a hand tap her shoulder.

"Aargh!" Toni cried involuntarily. She spun around. It was Jack with a wide, shit-eating grin on his face. He was covered in grime and sweat.

"You jerk!" 

"Hey, that's the thanks I get for going above and beyond the call of duty? For retracing my steps to look for you once I realised you hadn't escaped?"

"How did you know?"

"Well, lucky for you, I decided to take a detour around the deserted wing and saw that fire escape had been partially removed."

Toni looked at Jack's smug face. 

"Thanks for coming back for me," Toni managed. Somehow Jack's grin widened further.

"Though actually you're on the right path now. Left, left, right, left and you ...."

A scuffle against concrete brought Jack's preamble to a halt. 

Jack put a hand into this leather jacket pocket and drew out a small vanity mirror. He inched towards the corner of the corridor and carefully angled the small circular mirror to view the corridor behind him. Toni followed him despite his frantic hand-signals to stay put.

Toni also peered into his mirror. A tiny image of a blonde girl, wearing the same school uniform as the Asian girl, walking down the grey walled corridor.

"Wow, she's a stunner, " Jack commented, staring at the reflection, as the teenager got closer.

Toni realising what Jack was going to do next, grasped his arm and urged, in a whisper, "For chrissakes! She's just a kid. Come on! Let's get outta here!"

"She could be eighteen."

Toni glared at the reflection of the schoolgirl; men were so easily distracted by a pretty face. The girl was slender and trim. Her blonde hair tied back. White shirt. Orange tie. The brown jacket buttoned up. Brown skirt just above the knee. The girls' white socks were pulled down. She couldn't tell if the approaching female was a legal adult, short of asking her directly and hoping said individual was honest.

"We have photographic evidence of the ward upstairs. It'll be enough to get into print," Toni tried again.

"No! This is big. I can feel it. She's the icing on the cake. Private school kids involved in illegal drug experimentation. We grab her, we can make her talk. This whole story is gonna make the front page of the Tribune! Maybe even get picked by the bigger papers."

"Listen, this feels all wrong! Can't you see that? What's a teenage girl doing down here by herself!?"

"I think I can handle a teenager."

"It's a trap!"

"Perhaps, but I'm feeling lucky. Watch the master at work," Jack grinned as handed the mirror and also the map to Toni; then eased himself around the corner and started walking quickly towards the blonde schoolgirl. 

"Hey! How you doin'? " Toni heard Jack call to the girl. Toni shook her head in disbelief at the photographer's attempt at a New York accent as she eyed his approach in the small mirror. His body blocked her view of the school girl as he walked towards her. She squatted down to get a better view of the interaction between Jack and the school girl, holding the mirror low to the ground. As the girl got closer, Toni conceded grudgingly that Jack was right, the blonde teenager was indeed very attractive.

"Hello, sir," the schoolgirl replied politely. Each word enunciated precisely, reminiscent Toni thought of Katherine Hepburn.

"Sir?" said Jack in a jokey tone, " That's mighty polite of you! What are you doing alone in such a terrible place?"

The girl shrugged, ignoring the photographer's question, and looking through her eyelashes, asked, "Are you alone, sir?"

"Sure, I'm alone. What's your name, gorgeous?" asked Jack.

"Shouldn't you tell me your name first?" 

"That's very true," grinned Jack, stepping closer to the schoolgirl, " I'm Jacob Colton. But you can call me Jack."

The girl took a step back, and again asked the photographer," You came to this hospital by yourself, Mister Colton?"

Jack laughed, "I'm grown man, I come and go, when I please, where I please."

"Good." The finality of the word sent shivers down Toni's spine. 

"What the .... ? " Jack began as he stopped in mid-step.

The overhead incandescent lights flickered rapidly. Suddenly Toni felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise, followed by the sensation of hundreds of pinpricks stabbing into her skin. The sudden pain almost made her cry out. She felt her legs relax and go numb, unresponsive to her will despite the urgent voice in her head telling her to get up and run away. Preferably to another galaxy far, far away her inner voice screamed at her. Then rest of her body went numb, her hand holding the vanity mirror flopped onto the ground; somehow the glass stayed in hand, cradled in her fingers, still pointing at Jack and the school girl. Toni's backside slide down against the wall so that she sat on the concrete. It was then she realised, whatever what happening to her body had also affected her lower sphincters, her rear embarrassingly damp and the icky discomfort of small matter involuntarily extruded from her bowel. Her head lolled downwards so that she continued looking into the mirror at the scene unfolding in the corridor behind her.

She heard a sequence of loud cracks, like branches being snapped, each crack punctuated by an agonising scream from Jack. Toni watched in horror as a portion of Jack's arms jerked in time with each crack. After the fourth crack, Jack had stopped screaming and was half sobbing and half whimpering, his breathing ragged. Toni noticed a growing yellow puddle by his feet.

"Are you really alone, sir?"

"Fuck you," rasped Jack. In that moment, Toni felt a mix of emotions, admiration for his defiance, gratitude for the man's bravery but mostly, a slowly rising dread at what was going to happen next.

"Language!" reprimanded the girl tartly.

Jack started screaming again. Toni heard a series of smaller cracks, the cracking more prolonged before the final snap as if the girl meant to extend Jack's pain to its maximum extent, his right hand twitched like a spasmodic fish out of water with each final snap. She could almost see each finger bone twist and warp under invisible stress, as each phalanx bone was forcibly fractured. She saw blood well from each digit, the broken bone ends tearing through the skin of Jack's fingers. The cracking of bone and screaming from Jack continued for what seemed like an eternity to Toni, and then it stopped.

"You came here alone?"

"Urrgh .... urrgh .... yes."

The light from the lamps overhead in the corridor dimmed and flickered. Toni felt the pinpricks on her skin intensify; she couldn't stop a whimper escape her own throat. Jack jerked forward, his walking movements exaggerated and bouncy, as if he were a human-sized marionette controlled by strings attached to his leg joints. As he walked little brown matter fell from the bottom of his trousers, the reek of faeces become stronger. Toni wondered, rather irrelevantly, if own voided materials was contributing to the ordure in the unfolding drama. Toni's attention was drawn to the blonde girl. Her head slightly inclined towards Jack, looking at him intently, a stray blonde hair fallen in front of one eye, blood trickling from one of her nostrils. Something incredible was happening in front of Toni's eyes. How was she doing this thought Toni. The girl was somehow controlling Jack's body against his will. He was turned to stand facing the brick wall, about a foot and half away. 

"How did you find out about this place, sir?" enquired the girl.

Jack didn't reply.

The girl's eyes flicked away and then sharply back towards the wall. Jack's upper body leant back and then accelerated forward towards the wall, his forehead hitting the wall with a thud. His head turned sharply towards the girl as if a giant invisible hand had grasped his skull and turned it for him. A large gash marred his hairline, blood dripped steadily down his forehead and nose.

"Sir, please, answer my question. Who told you about this place?"

"What .... the .... fuck .... are you? How are you doing this to me?!" Jack managed through his pain.

"Do you want another head butt into wall, sir?"

Jack hawked and spat at the girl.

The school girl took a step back from her prisoner, took a handkerchief from her top jacket pocket and wiped the man's spittle off her face. She looked at the saliva and mucus in the cloth curiously before fastidiously closing it by drawing the corners in and folding the handkerchief twice over. She looked back at Jack, frowned and said sternly, "That was quite uncalled for, Mister Jacob Colton! Communicable diseases can be caught that way!"

Jack laughed, Toni thought he sounded slightly hysterical," You don't frighten me, child! I've been captured and survived torture by the Vietcong in 'Nam."

The girl didn't reply as she studied Jack; noticing for the first time the missing fingernails on his left hand, the scar tissue near his ears partially hidden by his over long, side-burns. Her head dipped slightly and Jack's head snapped back to face the wall. The girl approached the immobilized form of the photographer. Carefully avoiding his spilled excreta, she began to empty Jack's pockets. His pants. The bulging pockets of his brown jacket deflated as various tools and gadgets were dropped carelessly onto the ground. She up-ended his sling bag, a speedlight, camera lens and other photographic paraphernalia crashed to the ground, cracked apart, plastic shards, electronics and broken glass spraying around the feet of Jack and the school girl. She unzipped his leather jacket and found an inner pocket. She took his wallet and riffled through it. Throughout the quick search, Jack made muffled noises as if an invisible hand had been clasped over his mouth.

The school girl pulled a single business card from Jack's wallet and smiled, "What a curious name. Benjamin Buck. Alliterative."

The girl took out more business cards and shuffled through them. 

"All journalists and one camera shop," she noted and put the cards in one of her jacket pockets. She looked at her Casio watch; Toni noted it was on her right wrist.

A faint voice echoed faintly down the corridor, " Nine?"

"Before I go, I should let you know, sir, that I wish I had more time. Miss Read's instructions were for me to act as bait and to draw you out. Agent Frazier correctly guessed you were still in the basement and hiding from us."

"So what?"

"I always wanted to torture a man to death. But I'm afraid, this is the end of the night for you. I will say though, your vulgar language really has cheapened my experience. It doesn't reflect well on you, sir."

"Fuck off, you freak!"

"Nine!?" the voice was louder, Toni thought it was Doctor Read's.

"Au revoir, Jack, " the school girl said solemnly as she walked away from him.

The overhead lights began to flicker in steady bursts. Toni watched as Jack's upper body leaned back, stopped a brief moment before moving rapidly forward towards the brick wall. Jack's wail of desperation like a trapped animal knowing it was doomed was suddenly cut off as his face smashed into the bricks, with a sickening crunch, leaving blood on the grey wall. Toni heard the clatter of broken teeth hit the floor. His bloody head lolled around. Mercifully the first blow to his head had knocked him out. The incandescent lights strobed, alternating flashes of light and darkness. His upper body swung rapidly back and forth, again and again like a clapper of a church bell, his head smashing hard against the brick wall, the smear of blood increasing in size with each impact, changing from blood to gore, trails of blood and human tissue whipping across to the other side other corridor as Jack's body swung back. Each impact of his head against the brick wall sounding more and more mushy. 

Toni watched it all helplessly, her body refractory to her mind's will, unable to close her eyes. Compelled to watch a man's face be pounded away to bloody bone. The wall in front and immediately behind, like an obscene homage to Jackson Pollack, spray and drips of human blood, of human tissue once enclosed in a fleshy shell, torn asunder and revealed by violent impact. The instinctive part of Toni's mind screamed for her to get the fuck out of there but her legs were numb, at most her toes wiggled uselessly. Instead, Toni felt the dampness in the crotch of her pants increase as if her body in rebuke for her failure to run away, elected to completely loosen her bladder for her, to punish her for intransigence. The rational part of her mind calmly informing her that the amoral scientists of the Department of Energy had continued the work of MKUltra, had indeed succeeded in creating monsters out of American's children, monsters that could turn men inside out, displaying their bloody innards for all to see. But it also told her that if she didn't move, she would similarly join Jack as bloody decoration of the basement corridors underneath Chicago Mental Health Hospital.

Then the horrific mutilation stopped. The former photographer's body collapsed at the knees, and slumped against the wall. The remnants of Jack's head flopped back like a partially deflated balloon, the neck broken sometime during the violent back and forth. Blood steadily pumped from the torn carotid, running down the wall and mixing with Jack's excreta. At that precise moment, the pinpricks covering Toni's body disappeared and she felt blessed relief. She closed her eyes and wet her lips with her tongue. Simple acts to confirm that her body was back in her control. 

She got up back to a squat ignoring the uncomfortable squelching in her pants. She knew she had to leave but then she heard rapid footsteps coming down. One set she recognised as the characteristic clip-clop of pumps. Despite the danger, Toni knew she couldn't leave now. She had to see this to its end. Hoping her proverbial nine lives were not used up, she carefully angled the mirror and looked around the corner again.

The school girl had walked further up the corridor. Doctor Read was now standing by her. 

Toni saw the tall, dark-haired man continue walking towards her position. She held still hoping the man's attention was entirely focused on Jack's remains.

"Bloody hell!" the government agent swore under his breath as he surveyed the bloody carnage wrought by a teenage girl on an adult man.

He turned and called back, "Ma'am, it looks like your plan worked."

The agent gingerly reached over Jack's body, quick-released his Nikon camera from the camera strap and walked back to Doctor Read and the school girl. The agent noticing a beaded-chain around what was left of Jack's neck, teased it up, got a better hold and yanked. A pair of military dog tags came free in his hand.

"What did the bad man tell you, Nine?" Toni heard Doctor Read ask the schoolgirl. What a strange name thought Toni.

"He said his name was Jacob Colton, but he preferred to be called Jack. He said he came here alone tonight but did not tell me how he knew about the ward upstairs," replied Nine, "He was carrying these business cards in his wallet."

Toni noticed Read looked at the agent when Nine mentioned Jack's name. The agent had nodded in silent reply.

Then Toni saw the girl hand Doctor Read, the small pile of business cards. She felt her breath catch as she realised their significance. If Jack was in any way organised and efficient, her business card would be amongst those cards. Doctor Read looked through the cards and handed them to the male agent.

"Go through those cards. Find out if any of these individuals have poked their noses into our business before."

"Yes, ma'am."

Doctor looked at the Nikon camera in the agent's hands, and added, " Destroy the film. Presumably this photographer was hired to provide visual proof of the ward."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Dispose of the body. Clean up the mess."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You must learn to fine tune your skills, Nine, " scolded Doctor Read, turning her attention back to the school girl, " That paralytic field of yours is really a most unfortunate side-effect. It is most annoying in these type of scenarios. If only a field agent was present, or myself, we could have found out how the bad man knew about the ward upstairs."

"Yes, miss, " said Nine meekly. "I do think it was little smaller this time.”

"Maybe," conceded Doctor Read, " But you must concentrate harder."

Further footsteps announced the arrival of the blonde woman in the dark grey suit and the other school girl.

As she got closer, the Asian girl squealed in delight and ran towards Nine. She hugged Nine tightly around her waist, crying, " Ten worried the bad man would hurt you!"

"No, I'm fine, see, " reassured Nine, patting the smaller girl on the back. " I made sure the bad man will never hurt you .... us, again."

"Enough of that, girls, " said Doctor Read briskly. "That interlude was exciting but Ten still has work to do. Follow me."

"Yes, miss." 

It was time to go, as Doctor Read lead the schoolgirls away, Toni slowly she stood up, and as quietly as she could hurried away, praying neither government agent would walk around the corner to witness her escape. 

 

*****

Toni watched the back gate entrance that lead out of the Chicago Mental Health Hospital from her Audi 5000. During her walk across the hospital grounds from the basement to the outer fence, the words of Doctor Read had crossed her mind about the Asian girl's work not being finished. She hoped her hunch regarding the secrecy of the Department of Energy presence in the deserted wards meant that Doctor Read and her group would take the back entrance rather than the manned front entrance when leaving the mental hospital. She sat in dark, her car idling with the heater on. She reckoned the smell inside her car was probably reminiscent of a well-used but poorly maintained public toilet. Fortunately, constant proximity meant she had long been inured against the smell from her soiled pants. She found that so long as she didn't wriggle too much and rub against her damp backside, it wasn't too bad. She had placed a Bloomingdale plastic bag on the car seat to protect it against her damp posterior. Toni felt a twinge of guilt at leaving Jack's body behind. She wondered who would miss Jack Colton that Wednesday morning, or even later than week. Toni was fairly certain he was unattached but she imagined he still had family, a mother who maybe would miss his phone calls or a sibling wondering why he had not called to catch up on each other's lives. 

Within the hospital grounds she saw multiple headlights of cars in convoy approach the back gate. The first car, a Ford LTD Crown Victoria stopped at the gates. A dark suited man, she did not recognise, stepped out of the passenger side, into the cone of light cast by lone lamp post, and un-padlocked the wire gate and pulled each half of the gate back. The driver of the first car pulled out and parked by the side of gate, allowing the other vehicles to drive past and turn left, in the opposite direction from where Toni was parked. The meat truck was the third vehicle in the convoy.The dark suited man closed and locked the gates, then went back to the parked first car. Toni waited till the Ford had disappeared up the road before following; in the distance ahead, she could vaguely make out the meat truck by its rear top lights. 

She kept as far away as she could. It was near enough four o'clock in the morning with few other cars on the roads. Half a hour later, the Ford Crown Victoria accelerated and overtook the meat truck. Moments later when the convoy in front of her, crested away over a low hill so that she could see all the cars travelling ahead, there were only the one Ford car leading the meat truck travelling southwards. Somehow she had missed the first cars turning off. The silver lining for Toni was that it simplified her choices to one; to keep following the meat truck. 

Toni almost lost track of the cars as they entered the Aurora Toll Plaza on Interstate 88, as she had hung back a little too much, wary of being noticed by vehicles she was following. Too, as she wound down the driver side window, the half-asleep toll operator leaning forward to accept her payment suddenly jerked back, startled after catching a lungful of the pungent atmosphere from Toni's car. He narrowed his eyes at Toni as he accepted her payment and for a moment, Toni feared he would call her out, to not let her through the toll gate but he did. As they drove westward, more and more cars appeared, so Toni moved a little closer to the vehicles she was tailing. The pair of vehicles exited at Dixon, drove towards the town for a bit before a right at the T-junction took them onto a highway away from the town

It was quieter road, pitch black, running through Toni guessed open fields. The shrubbery on either side of the road, low enough that she could see the night sky. Far to her right, in the distance, she could see the twinkling lights of moving cars on the Interstate. Like before she hung back till the rear lights of the truck were small dots in the darkness. Toni felt in her gut that they were getting close to their destination. When they eventually both vehicles indicated and turned right, she felt sure enough to continue past the turning, just looking at where the cars had driven into. Both cars had stopped outside a gate set twenty yards or so back from the road. Toni half-glimpsed a hunched figure by the gate, presumably in the act of unlocking it. There was a dilapidated sign, almost covered by vines and creepers, that she managed to make out 'Binbrook Airfield' by the headlights of her car. She carried on driving, continuously looking in the rear view mirror for a few miles. Nothing. 

Toni resisted the urge to stop, to circle back and investigate this new location. While she wanted to know why the Department of Energy were willing to kill to keep secret the knowledge and the fate of the sedated girls in their mysterious experiment, the sensible part of her reminded she was under prepared. She knew the odds were short on the secret ward in the deserted wing of the Chicago Mental Hospital remaining open because of Jack and her intrusion that night. But she was fairly certain that the occupants of the truck and the meat truck had not realised they were being followed. She hoped whatever was happening at the abandoned airfield would still be there, when she returned in the very near future. Without the stress of being chased or being the chaser, her mind began to wander as she speculated what she had witnessed earlier on Wednesday morning. 

*****

"Toni?"

"Huh?"

"You're okay?" Shane asked.

Toni nodded. She must have zoned out. Suddenly she felt incredibly tired. And a good sign, sleepy. The alcohol must have done its trick, She hadn't slept since Monday night. She had thrown away all the clothes she wore to the Chicago Mental Hospital into the garbage chute. Then taken a long shower where she had curled up in the warm, wet embrace of the falling water. Imagining she was floating serenely in the deep blue, wishing the comforting water could run through inside her head to wash away the images of Jack's death. Afterwards, she had went straight to work at the Chicago Tribune offices that Wednesday unwilling to close her eyes.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah," said Toni," Probably call it a night but I need to make a phone call first."

Shane nodded to the far end of the bar, "Good night, see you later!"

By the dirty green phone, Toni flicked through her address book. She stopped at the entry marked 'Murray Bauman.'


	9. Jim Hopper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It starts badly but ends well for Hopper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. BOLO - "be on the lookout"
> 
> 2\. Took liberties with interior of Hawkins library and apologies if it makes no sense spatially.
> 
> 3\. Violence. 
> 
> 4\. ICBM - intercontinental ballistic missiles
> 
> 5\. Liberal use of bad language.
> 
> 6\. { hopper unscathed? storyline } { mystery intruder storyline }
> 
> 7\. Appendices for list references/homages/influences/thoughts now separate chapter - Chapter 11 Appendix.

_" Sweet dreams are made of this_  
_Who am I to disagree?_  
_I travel the world and the seven seas_  
_Everybody's looking for something_

 _Some of them want to use you_  
_Some of them want to get used by you_  
_Some of them want to abuse you_  
_Some of them want to be abused_   " _\- Eurythmics, 1982_

 

**20th Thursday December 1984**

**Public Library, Hawkins, Indiana**

 

The centre of Hawkins was deserted. Acting upon Hopper’s orders, Powell and Callahan had evacuated shop-owners, tradespeople, office workers, townsfolk and assorted transients from the buildings around Hawkins Public Library. An All Points Bulletin had been issued by the most trustworthy name in law enforcement and public order, a titan among the keepers of the peace, Dean Firmly. A dangerous criminal, a fugitive from the law had been reported to be at large in Indiana. The criminal has been reported seen in the town centre of Hawkins hence the mass evacuation. Hopper knew procedure was to wait for the proper authorities to arrive to apprehend the fugitive. But Hawkins was his patch, his town, his home. If anyone was going to keep Hawkins safe from criminal scum it was going to be Police Chief James Theodore Hopper.

It was a miserable, winter's day in Hawkins. The trees in the square around the library were long denuded, bare of any greenery. All colour seemed to be have drained from Hawkins' town centre, everything seemed to be shades of grey and white. Dark bruised clouds, in various shades of monochromatic grey, hung menacingly low in the sky, spitting frozen rain, the largest ice pellets, Hopper had ever seen during his time in Hawkins.

Hopper studied a droplet that had landed on the sleeve of his dark blue jacket. He expected the drop of sleet to melt to water. But it perched there like a roach. Hopper had weirdest feeling that the icy droplet was in fact looking back at him in return with alien cool detachment. Upon his epiphany, the droplet suddenly shook itself, hissed and rolled off his sleeve. Hopper blinked hard and rubbed his eyes in disbelief at what just seen and heard. He looked down at this feet, it was impossible to locate where the sleet droplet had fallen amongst the watery slush on the ground. Hopper shook his head and slapped himself - hard. This was not the time to be day-dreaming of fanciful insects made of ice; this was the time to be in tune with reality, he reminded himself.

Hopper blew his breath out, it wrapped around his head, seemingly reluctant to leave the relative warmth of his head. It was damn cold, it got into his joints and in recent years, in particular, his left knee, the one he had injured during his last tour of Vietnam. He hated the dull persistent ache on the side of that knee when it was bitterly cold. The pain was only relieved when he pressed it against a warm radiator; he felt he was too young or too busy or too unmanly - depending on his procrastinatory proclivity to ask for a compress at the drugstore. He already felt fatigued, painfully aware that years of chemical abuse: booze, cigarettes and pharmaceuticals had eroded his body's strength and speed. Despite his varied experience as a soldier and a police officer, Hopper was was not calm, he did not feel ready for the inevitable showdown, to take his place in the arena of death. This criminal was very dangerous.

Hopper looked at the colour xerox copy of the perpetrator's rap sheet again. The mugshot was mostly faded. A halo of curly, yellow hair framed the oval of an indistinct face. The list of heinous crimes committed by the perp was long. Aggravated assault. Battery. Disturbing the peace. Murder. Mass murder of law enforcement agents. Identity theft. Robbery. Theft. Vandalism. A very dangerous individual. A very disturbed individual even. A menace to civil society, that had to be destroyed before it caused more death and destruction. He checked the personal details again. The name was faded and hard to read. But the other details were there in black and white. Fourteen. Just a child! Female. Even now he was shocked. He had been raised to think that girls were made of sugar and spice and all things nice as the popular song went. What was the world coming to, with criminals so young, and of so-called fairer sex.

He hefted his Smith & Wesson and surveyed Main Street. He caught a glimpse of a shadow far to his right. It was probably Powell. They were maintaining radio silence. The BOLO had stated the criminal had a pre-natural ability to eavesdrop active radio channels. It had speculated past indiscriminate use by the authorities had allowed the fugitive to avoid being captured. Hopper felt sweat trickle and pool in the small of his back. The moisture chilled and made him shiver as it pooled and dripped into the back of his pants. His own breathing sounded harsh, unnatural and loud. Irritated by how his breath clouded up the air, and thus giving away his position, Hopper tried to breathing through his nose but it wheezed noisily; he resisted the natural urge to unblock by picking. He dimly heard stentorian voice of Callahan echo down the street, telling the too curious for their own good to stand away from the police cordon.

Then Hopper saw the fourteen year old fugitive of law and order. A shock of yellow hair trailing behind as she ran past bare hedges along the front of Hawkins Public Library.

Bang! Bang! Chips of brick and stone flew up. Powell's shots had missed their target.

The fugitive stopped briefly, looked over in the direction of the gun shot and raised her hand. Hopper couldn't be sure but it didn't look she was wielding a gun, in fact, it was more like her hand was empty. But then he heard Powell stumble back, squealing and chittering in pain. No sounds that Hopper had ever heard a human make. Not even in Vietnam and he had witnessed a lot of weird shit during his three tours there. He rationalised that she must have been carrying a weapon, the poor light and sleet must have played tricks with his sight, obscuring the vital detail of a projectile weapon that had shot Powell in the throat, most likely his vocal chords given the inhuman sounds he was made when hit.

"Officer down! Corner of Shadow and Main!" Hopper reported on his shoulder radio, breaking radio silence. He ran forward and attempted a shot of own. He missed.

The girl turned, dashed up the stairs and without breaking her running stride, lowered her head and with both hands outstretched, smashed through the locked green doors of the library. Hopper swore. He had locked the library doors himself. She was pre-naturally strong despite having a slender frame of a fourteen year old girl.

Hopper cautiously ran across the library lawn, his boots crunching the icy grass, up the library stairs and eased past the broken wooden doors hanging off their hinges.

The windows in the library were covered in blue paper dotted with holes. Hopper remembered it was constellations-themed month at the library. Hopper shivered involuntarily, the blue half-light interior of the library brought back suppressed memories of another time, another place that was similarly dark and subdued in the shades of unhealthy blight and decay, a place of hopelessness and death. Hopper moved away from the door, crouched a while to allow his eyes to adjust to the light and to look for the light switch.

He found the switch. Flicked it up and down. Nothing.

There was no sound from within the library and Hopper wondered if the girl had not simply headed straight out of the library via the exit around the back.

Feeling all of a sudden reckless, Hopper decided, so to speak, that having already thrown in his money, now it was time to rock and roll. Keep low, he ran towards the main desk, hoping its position as the central hub from where the library book aisles radiated outwards like the spokes of the wheel would allow unobstructed view of the ground floor. He had taken no more than a couple of steps when out of the gloom to his left, a large book hurtled towards his position. He dived for the cover of the main desk. The book slammed against the floor and spun around before stopping. The gold writing, blue cover and red spines indicating a Academic American Encyclopedia, the number 'Eleven' embossed on its spine.

Carefully Hopper inched his head above the desk. He saw movement running from left to right, away from the back entrance and towards the staircase leading to the second floor of the library.

Hopper's police radio suddenly crackled. It was Callahan, his voice broke as he continued, "Chief? You're there? It's Powell. He's ....he's .... he's gone."

Hopper looked upwards and closed his eyes towards the heavens, despite being a lapsed Episcopalian, he offered a prayer for Powell's soul.

"Another one bites the dust, oh yeah!" crowed the voice of the girl echoed around the empty library. Evidently, she had overheard Callahan's bad news and now was ashamedly boasting about another notch on her list of kills.

"It ends now!" promised Hopper, under his breath, to whatever deity was listening, touching the blue band on his wrist as he did so.

He moved rightwards and ran down the aisle towards the sound of the singing girl.

"Hey, I'm gonna get you, too!"

Hopper looked up. The teenage reprobate was on the landing on the staircase, where the staircase split into two and turned perpendicular against the windows. She stood darkly against the blue tissue paper covered windows as she held an imaginary microphone to her mouth, as if she was performing a musical number in front of an audience.

"How do you think I'm going to get along!"

Hopper raised his gun, settle himself and took aim. Then he became aware of rustling, rattling and something vibrating against the wooden floorboards he was standing on. In fact, as his focus moved away from aiming the gun to his immediate environment, his senses registered an ominously large amount of rustling, rattling and almost bass-like thumping under his boots. He glanced back and he wished he hadn't. His eyes widen as he books on the shelves behind him, moved forwards and backwards on their own volition, it seemed. When their covers opened, their inner pages waved in hideous imitation thought Hopper's imagination of white tentacles of sea anemones in rock pools. The bookshelves themselves were jumping up and down on the floor, arrhythmically. He noticed the bookcases were also inching closer and become acutely aware that he was standing in the middle of a narrowing space.

"Shit!!"

Hopper stumbled forward, sprinting off a mark was not his forte, aiming to reach the end the aisle become the bookcases closed shut like the jaws of an alligator. Books began to fly past behind, missing him at first. But a few strides in, as the books slammed into each other, their ricochet trajectories clipped or slammed into the back of head, his body and his legs. He heard loud crashes, guessed they were the bookshelves collapsing against each other. The girl was causing this somehow thought Hopper. He had to stop her one way or another. He raised his gun and began shooting in her general direction. He heard the tinkle of glass, and shafts of light opened up around her as she sashayed on the landing, the light lending theatricality to her singing performance. As more books hit him, Hopper slowed. A glancing blow against his leg, made him stumble. In desperation, he flung himself forward, gripped his gun with both hands and fired a Hail Mary shot at the singing girl.

"Without you when you're gone ....." The girl's voice was suddenly cut off.

Hopper crashed inelegantly to the floor of the library, the books, the shelves and bookcases, fell around and onto him. Hopper immediately curled up into a fetal position and covered his head with his arms and hands. A wooden shelf slammed onto his wrist, the shock knocked the empty revolver out of his hand. A second shelf fell on his body, the force knocking the breath out of him, and he knew he would be lucky to escape with just bruises. He looked up. Two empty bookcases toppled towards his prone form. For a moment, he thought this was his end, crushed to death in Hawkins Public Library. But the top halves of the falling bookcases slammed into each other and broke apart. He was showered at first with tiny splinters, and then larger pieces of broken wood. He couldn't help but grunt in pain as each larger piece crashed onto or into his body. Their impact partly negated by the debris already covering him.

Then the rain of wooden debris was over. There was silence. No singing. No sound, except for his own laboured breathing.

He craned his neck up, through the gap in wooden wreckage over him, towards the staircase landing, the girl had fallen down and seemed to be motionless.

Carefully and cautiously, Hopper crawled from under the mass of broken material. He winced and reflexively cradled his gun hand after putting some weight on it. Somehow using his other good one hand and his legs, he managed to extricate himself from under the pile of shattered bookcases and strewn books.

Hopper staggered to his feet and suppressed a whimper, he looked down at his left calf. A spear-shaped piece splinter had passed through his calf, he felt, when he clenched his muscle, that the wood scraped his tibula or maybe it was his fibula. He wasn't a doctor, but whatever part of his anatomy the splinter was rubbing against, it fucking hurt. On his left side of his body various shards of wood had penetrated his body, he felt dampness under his clothes; Hopper hoped nothing had punctured too deeply into his body.

He looked around the library. Surprisingly only two lines of library bookcases had been destroyed. The remainder of the library was untouched. Still, the Town Council would be unimpressed by the damage caused by his reckless decision to not wait for federal law enforcement. He hoped that he had been successful. That the teenage criminal was dead. It would be worth enduring the hours and hours of paperwork, meetings and interviews that he knew was coming his way.

Hopper couldn't see his fallen gun amongst the debris. He chose a broken piece of shelf, the size of a baseball bat. Hopper was taking no chances. He was prepared to smash in the head of the teenage criminal if she was still alive and so much as looked at him in the wrong way. He limped up the stairs, leaning his right forearm against the banister. He reached the landing and had to stop, feeling light-headed, inside of his left boot was very damp, he didn't need to be a doctor to know why. He looked down at the fallen itinerant; the blonde hair sprayed out like the sun's rays. The girl was still alive. She was taking rapid shallow breaths. The cadence of the breathing relighted an old memory which Hopper hastily closed down. The dark pool underneath the fallen girl was spreading. Clutched in one hand was a stuffed animal. Hopper felt his breath catch in his throat. Even in the dim light, he recognised the shape and even the colours. It was a tiger.

With shaking hands, Hopper unhooked his torch, turned it on and shone the light onto the face of the young teenage criminal.

The face of his own daughter, his real daughter, Sara Hopper looked back at him.

Blood gurgled from her mouth as Sara Hopper spoke, "Daddy, don't you love me any more? Why did you replace me with .... that scientific experiment?"

 

\---

**20th Thursday December 1984**

**Grandfather Hopper's wood cabin, Hawkins, Indiana**

 

Hopper jack-knifed up, wide awake and breathing heavily. He could see nothing, but he felt empty space around him. It was pitch black. It was still the middle of the night. He heard the hoot of an owl. The creak of tree branches outside. Normally, the sound of nature outside would have reassured him but he felt the instinctive need to see that was he actually where he thought he was. He fumbled for the night light.

The light revealed that he was sitting up in his bed, in his bedroom, in his grandfather's cabin. His one piece long johns, hanging loosely on his trimmer frame, was soaked with sweat. He ran his hand through his wild, bed hair. He closed his eyes, and opened them again. He was relieved to be in the same place and if his watch was correct, three o'clock in the morning of the 20th, the expected day and time. He felt slightly perturbed that the memories of his nightmare, remained in his mind's eye with dreadful clarity, so unlike the usual fugitive nature of dreams once awake. He felt little uneasy, this was not the first time he had such a vivid nightmare.

Unlike the events of his dream, the painful feelings of guilt and remorse after hearing 'Dream Sara's accusation when he awoke were fading rapidly In fact, Hopper noticed that despite the uncomfortable dampness of sodden clothes and shocking vividness of his nightmare, he was buzzing, stimulated and alert. He felt impervious to the coldness of the room. As if he really had been in a fire fight and the beneficial effects of adrenaline still coursing through his body. But he was virtually sitting in a pool of his own sweat. He needed a shower. He swung his legs off and eased out of the top of his long johns.

Then the floorboards outside his door creaked. Hopper froze, the memory of his dream coming to mind. His gun belt was only hanging from the foot of his bed. He leaned forward, stretching out for his gun.

Suddenly a mass of dishevelled brown hair popped around his bedroom door.

"Hopper? You're awake! You heard me cry out in my sleep!" said Jane Ives, his adopted daughter of a few months, adoption paperwork provided courtesy of Doctor Samuel Owens.

"Are you going to work?" asked Jane, staring at Hopper's hairy upper body.

Hopper hastily pulled up the bed sheets around his shoulders, feeling flustered and managed, "No! Jane! What did I say about knocking first?"

He noticed Jane's teary, brown eyes and her pale face.

"Hey, kiddo! What's wrong?!"

"I couldn't sleep. I woke up after a bad dream," Jane explained as she eased herself into his bedroom and stood hesitantly by the door. Hopper nodded sympathetically, and wondered irrelevantly if Jane's cheesy eggos for dinner was the cause of both hers and his nightmares that night.

Hopper's eyes were drawn to the blue band around Jane's wrist.

"She shouldn't be wearing that," said a quiet voice in Hopper's head. Hopper sat very still; his eyes slowly moved left and right. By Jane's expression, he could tell that only he heard the words. He was pretty certain only Jane and himself were alone in the log cabin. As Hopper thought about it, the voice in his head sounded very familiar.

"Hopper can I sit with you awhile?" asked Jane. She frowned at Hopper. He wasn't behaving as expected to her concerns or for that matter, seemed quite himself. He was just sitting in his bed with a distracted, wary look on his face.

"Huh?" Hopper's eyes refocused on Jane and said, "Yeah, sure, kid. Pull up that chair! You can toss my clothes onto the floor."

Eleven pushed Hopper's police uniform onto the floor and sat on the Sixties-era easy chair, at an angle to Hopper. She drew her knees up, with her arms around the shins.

"So you want to tell me your scary dream?" asked Hopper, pulling more of the blanket around himself.

"I dreamt about the end of Hawkins, of Indiana," whispered Eleven, her chin on her knees and shuddered. Hopper realised then how frightened his adopted daughter was.

"The Russians blew up a bomb in the skies over Indiana. It made things that ran on electricity useless, even the cars stopped running. Then their ICBMs slammed into the cities .... Chicago and Indianapolis. I saw each red-orange mushroom cloud rise up, lightning zig-zagging from the sky to the ground and then massive grey, almost black clouds rolling across from the base of each blast, destroying everything in their path. Tearing apart skyscrapers and other buildings, throwing trucks and cars into the air, and people who were too close, burnt to ashes or squashed flat by pieces of flying walls or cars, torn apart into separate pieces ...."

"Woah, Jane, that's quite .... graphic. You shouldn't watch so much late night television .... "

"I watched the the Day After movie the other night. It wasn't that late. At the end of the film they said they had to downplay the effects of the nuclear blast. Mike said downplay meant that the effects of the nuclear blast are a really a lot worst in real life. He's not lying is he?"

"No, he's not. Nuclear bombs are the most terrifying weapons mankind has ever invented. But the Day After, that's just a made-up story. The chances of nuclear war happening are vanishingly small."

"How do you know? Mike said threat of nuclear war is very real. He said there's something called a doomsday clock that tells us how close we are to the end of the world. That when the clock reads midnight that is the end of all life on this planet. Mike said at the moment the doomsday clock is reading three minutes to midnight."

Hopper blew out his breath and replied, "Is that so? That doomsday clock is too pessimistic. The countries that have atomic bombs have responsible leaders. There may be misunderstandings between countries at the moment but their leaders are all too aware of the risks to mankind if the nuclear weapons are ever used."

"But they have been used before, haven't they? Mike said we, the United States dropped nuclear bombs on enemies they were fighting in the Second World War. That's true, too?"

"I'm afraid so. But you need to understand the United States had good reason to use nuclear bombs when they did."

Eleven looked away from Hopper to stare middle-distance in the room.

"Mike said after the nuclear bombs fell on those cities in Japan, it caused unnatural rain to fall. Black rain, he said. Poison from the sky. Killing every living thing it touched," said Eleven, "In my dream, I saw the nuclear bomb coming towards Hawkins. I stopped it in mid-flight, and hurled it back, higher into the sky but not far enough, I was not strong enough. It exploded. Creasing the sky with furious red. I saw what it did to my friends after it had blew up."

Tears began to run down Eleven's cheeks.

"Lucas was blind, he had foolishly viewed the nuclear explosion through his father's binoculars. The bright flash turned his eyes white. Dustin, his skin was coming off in bloody strips and his hair .... falling out in clumps; he had been outside, working on his tan. And Mike .... Mike was really sick, the black rain had soaked him when he was looking for survivors. He couldn't keep his food down; it came out from either end, covered in bright red blood. He didn't live very long; he died in my arms. I wasn't strong enough. I couldn't save my friends. I couldn’t save Mike.”

Hopper wrinkled his brow as he watched the teenage girl sob, putting her face against her legs. As he shifted his weight forward to stand up, the voice in his head said quietly, "Let her cry it out by herself."

Hopper stopped and watched Jane cry. He was at a loss for words. He had never expected to have 'whatever this was' type of conversation. What do tell someone, gifted beyond the norm, that they,after all, were just human? He knew he couldn't pretend again that the terrible things she saw in her nightmare would never happen in reality. Hopper wondered what you could say to a child that their life might be cut short, out of no fault of their own because of political enmity between countries that had begun many years before they were born. As Hopper looked at Jane, he become aware all of the sudden that he hadn't explained to her why the United States government were running research projects that she was part of. That America were losing the Cold War, that it had been the case since the 1950s, that the Russians had more powerful nuclear bombs and the United States government were desperate to gain any sort of edge. That maybe Jane was that edge.

"I couldn't save Mike," repeated Jane as she cried.

"Jane, it was just a dream ...." Hopper began helplessly.

Jane wiped snot away from her nose, looked at Hopper, shook her head and asked, “But it can happen again? The Russians. The Americans. The others who have nuclear bombs. Someone, somewhere will always find a reason, good or bad, for nuclear weapons to be fired at innocent people."

Hopper took a deep breath.

"Jane, listen to me. You're right. The threat of nuclear war is very real. The consequences of nuclear weapons are too horrifying to contemplate. But don't let that fear take over your life. Try not to think about it all the time; you got appreciate each moment of your life now."

Eleven frowned, "You mean compromise .... again."

"Yes, I guess I'm saying that."

"But I'm not living a normal life. I'm always .... hiding in this cabin ...."

"Your .... our lives are very complicated at the moment. You know this hiding from the bad men won't last forever. This time next year you will be high school."

An idea struck Hopper, he added, "Look, why don't we have a proper Christmas this year. Tonight, after work, I buy a real Christmas tree and we can decorate it together."

Eleven face brightened, she wiped away her tears with her palm and back of her hand.

"Really? Really?! Will you get shiny, glitter balls and lots and lots of tinsel ?! "

"Yes! The sky's the limit, the whole works. It will be Christmas to remember," promised Hopper, smiling.

Eleven sprang from the easy chair, threw her arms around Hopper and hugged him tightly. He felt her damp face against his own. Hopper returned his adopted daughter's hug.

"You're going to get a big tree, right?" said Jane excitedly.

"It'll be taller than me, kiddo.”

"Very smooth, " congratulated the voice in Hopper's head, "You fooled the cuckoo."

Hopper frowned, the words tainting his moment of elation and joy at Jane's happiness.

 

\----

**20th Thursday December 1984**

**Hawkins Police Station, Hawkins, Indiana**

 

"I'll kill for Whopper and fries," commented Powell as he walked with Hopper to the front of Hawkins Police Station.

Hopper grunted sourly, "You're lucky, you can eat anything and everything and still not put on weight."

"How's the diet going, Chief?" teased Powell.

Hopper pointedly ignored Powell and walked into the front office stroke reception area of the police station. He was mildly surprised to find Flo still at work. She was readjusting her brown scarf around her neck, eyeing herself in the imperfect reflection of the windows facing outside darkness, before buttoning up her shearling fur winter coat.

"Chief, just in time, you got a visitor. Mrs Byers. I waited as long as I could but it's coming to half past seven. I put her in your office."

Hopper sighed, "Thanks, see you tomorrow."

Powell sat heavily down on his chair by his desk and looked forlornly at his typewriter. He looked up at Hopper hopefully, " Can I write the report tomorrow?"

Hopper paused, letting Powell anticipate the worst, before saying,"Go to your burger, Powell. But I still want today's accident written up and on my desk before noon tomorrow."

"You're the best, Chief!" smiled Powell.

"Yeah, yeah, you're taking advantage of my good nature," grumbled Hopper.

"Hey, I didn't know you had one," riposted Powell, his voice deadpan.

"You better leave before I change my mind!" threatened Hopper, in a mock stern voice.

Hopper watched Flo and Powell leave the police station. He wondered briefly where Callahan was. He was supposed to be on night duty. Probably already on a call-out somewhere. He strode into his office. Joyce Byers was standing up, with her thin winter coat over her arm. She turned away from the map of Indiana that Hopper's predecessor had hung on his office wall.

"Hey, Hops, " greeted Joyce, "You look worn out, it's been a long day, huh?"

"Don't you know it," replied Hopper, placing his hat on the clothes stand and taking off his heavy, outer police jacket. He felt obliged into ruffling out his hair, to alleviate the 'hat-hair' look he knew he had before turning to face Joyce.

"I've just come back from a pile-up, just off the highway near the Cranston junction," Hopper said, smoothing his moustache, trying to hid his sudden feelings of awkwardness.

"Bad, huh?"

"Well, there was a young family involved; their lives are not going to be same again, unfortunately."

"That's real sad to hear."

"Yeah," said Hopper, "Why don't you take a seat and we can chat."

"Okay, but this won't take long as I guess you need to get home soon too."

The emphasis in Joyce's voice, made Hopper look up. Both smiled knowingly.

"Yeah."

Hopper walked over to his desk and saw a brown paper bag on it. He peeked inside. There were two books. He took one out and flipped through the pages. There were far too many numbers and lots of complicated diagrams, annotated with more numbers. The mathematical formulas gave him a familiar headache. He had hated mathematics when he was at school. He closed the textbook with a loud thump.

"Not quite what I was expecting for Christmas, Mrs Byers."

Joyce laughed.

"Hah, hah! Very funny. It's a little gift from the boys. It seems their friend really likes algebra."

Upon hearing Joyce's words, Hopper felt a flare of irritation, like he was being criticised. He had known for a while now that Eleven, no her name was Jane he mentally corrected himself, had liked the junior school mathematics books he had picked up as part of her rather adhoc introduction to the American education system. And that he had deliberately ignored Jane's affinity for numbers. He knew had made excuses for doing so; he had told himself he was bad at mathematics so he couldn't teach Jane, or that the priority was for Jane to improve her language skills so as to appear less of a monosyllabic weirdo when she did finally present herself to the outside world. In truth, a part of him had wished Jane wasn't by inclination a natural nerd or that a group of losers, that he would have mostly ignored, at best, when he had been in school, had found and befriended his Jane, his adopted daughter.

"What's wrong?" asked Joyce.

Hopper blinked and saw Joyce with a puzzled look on her face. He ran his hand through his thinning hair, ignored Joyce's look and question and asked, "Will is okay, right?"

"Hmm, I'm not sure," admitted Joyce," The wound in his side, the one that Nancy made with the hot poker, keeps reopening and bleeding. It happened again last night, he woke up screaming in so much pain, there was so much blood on his tee-shirt."

"You took Will to that new doctor in town, huh, what's her name .... Doctor McGillis?" asked Hopper. Probably a little too nonchalant thought Hopper as he saw a brief knowing smile cross Joyce's face. Hawkins, being Hawkins, everyone knew of his reputation as ladies' man. But he felt a little sad that Joyce was accepted that consensus too.

"Of course Will begged me not to but I took him this morning. The doctor took some blood and some material from the wound," replied Joyce, "I'm sure she means well, but I can't help thinking, this is .... you know."

"Hmm, you don't think it's something simple like him scratching at his side because it's itchy while healing?"

Joyce regarded Hopper, her 'don't suffer fools gladly' look. Hopper winced and hurriedly muttered, "Only saying."

"The wound was healing okay for a month or so, scabs and all. Then a day after Barbara Holland's funeral, was the first time. Then last night. This is the second time now. It's like the wound has never been healing at all."

Hopper had the strangest feeling that the dates of Will's wound re-opening and bleeding again were significant.

"You think it's to do with the Upside Down?" asked Hopper. A little tingle started at the base of his skull; he knew then that he was close, in the ballpark of discovering the significance of those dates mentioned by Joyce Byers.

Joyce sat down on the chair opposite. Hopper couldn't help noticing the shifting of Joyce's shirt across her chest as she leaned forward. Hopper watched Joyce light up a cigarette. Her motions economical, she pursed her lips as she blew out the cigarette smoke. Hopper felt as if Joyce was blowing him a kiss, he stared at her mouth, her lips looked so soft and inviting.

"Imagine you and her lighting up, after a hot, sweaty session in bed," the quiet voice whispered in Hopper's mind. The tingling in his skull disappeared, as he felt a familiar sensation in his loins. Hurriedly, Hopper scooted forward so that his legs were under the desk.

"I don't know, Hops. Will has changed. Understandable given what he's been through. He's not really opened up about his experiences about being trapped the Upside Down or being .... I don't know what to call it .... a monster's puppet. "

"Possession," supplied Hopper, and added, "Give him time, it's early days yet."

"Maybe, but before his wound bled again last night, we did talk the night before when I wasn't doing overtime," said Joyce, "In fact, it's actually why I'm here."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Will pointed out that we, I mean our family have never really thanked a dear friend properly for the twice helping us to save his life."

Hopper's eyes narrowed.

"What are you suggesting?"

"I like to invite you over for Christmas Day. You're welcome to bring a guest."

"You know I can't do that. Too many eyes, too many ears, too many mouths that can blab."

"Don't you think it's about time that Will has the opportunity to personally thank the person who's done so much for him?"

"Didn't Will say anything last weekend?"

"From various accounts I've heard, I don't think our friend left Mike's side at all night."

Hopper exhaled loudly.

"I understand, I really do," said Hopper, "But I'm a protector and there's just too much at stake to take that risk. For instance, what happens if Lonnie turns up?"

"I doubt that very much."

"How do you know? Doesn't he even want to see his sons, Will and Jonathan, during Christmas?""

Joyce shook her head and laughed cynically," Can you believe it? Lonnie has gotten his 'teenage' girlfriend pregnant; I believe she's seven months or so. He's already phoned me and said he won't be visiting. He'll be spending Christmad with his girlfriend's family."

"I'm sorry to hear that. But you understand, I still can't accept."

Joyce inhaled deeply on her cigarette and regarded the Hawkins police chief. Taking in his heavily creased clothes, the dark rings under his eyes, his untidy, untrimmed beard and long nails on his hands. An idea formed in her head.

"It's not easy burning the candle at both ends, is it? Being responsible twenty four seven is never easy, " said Joyce.

"Oh, I managing okay," said Hopper, surprised at the change in conversation. Thinking that Joyce was making small talk before leaving, he took out his packet of cigarettes in readiness for a soothing smoke before going back to his grandfather's log cabin. Jane didn't like his smoking habit and also had pointed out to him that fresh cigarette butts outside of the cabin were an obvious tell-tale sign that of recent human activity.

"Even when we bone tired, there's always so much to do, so much to remember to do," said Joyce sympathetically.

Her words jolted Hopper. Suddenly, he remembered his promise to his adopted daughter, Jane, that he had made earlier that day.

"Oh, shit!!" Hopper blurted.

"Excuse me?"

"No, no! I wasn't swearing at you," apologised Hopper. He looked at the clock on the wall, even with late night shopping hours, the Pines and Needles place would have closed. He swore inwardly, angry that he had broken such a straightforward promise to his adopted daughter. He was supposed to have turned over a new leaf regarding parenting matters. In his mind's eye, Hopper could already see Jane's disappointed face when he turned up at the log cabin door with nothing in his hands later that night. Maybe he could swing by the gas station and hoped he could find some sort of Christmas-related knick-knack there.

"You're forgotten something important?" asked Joyce shrewdly.

"I was planning to go all the way with festivities this year. Real Christmas tree. Tinsel. Glitter balls. Angel on the top of the tree. There's still time, I can go tomorrow. Christmas Day is still five days away."

"Uh, huh. You do know that the Christmas tree is traditionally put up twelve days before Christmas Day."

"Joyce, I'm tired. It's been a long, stressful day. I'm angry at myself for forgetting. It's late. Did I say I'm tired already? What's your point."

"I recall last year, and in fact, the year before, you telling me, how manic things get for the police leading up to the holidays and during the holidays. In fact, it doesn't settle till past the New Year sales."

"Yeah, true enough," admitted Hopper grudgingly.

"And I bet in previous years, at ten o'clock on Christmas Eve night, you stopped by Chivers, and just grabbed several six packs as your way of pissing away Christmas Day."

Hopper flushed and looked away, he couldn't look Joyce Byers in the eye.

"I've changed," Hopper said softly.

"I know you have, but it's been a long time since you've been you know, you're out of practice, " said Joyce generously, "So what do you say? Come along a bit before Christmas dinner at six?"

Hopper squinted at Joyce and grinned lopsidedly," You're the best role-model right?"

"I'm one of the best, if I do say so myself, Mister Hopper," returned Joyce, blowing out her cigarette exhalant.

"I guess the boys will turn up as well?"

"I imagine if you agree to come over, it'll be a dead cert."

Hopper was silent for a while, looked at his packet of Marlboros.

"Your offer possibly will beat my fancy Christmas tree," said Hopper, "It's a date."

"Great!"

Hopper grinned at Joyce. At least Jane wouldn't be too disappointed when he turned up empty-handed tonight. Thinking about it further, Hopper concluded there were two positives in accepting Joyce Byer's offer. It would be the first time he had a proper Christmas since his divorce, many years ago, and more pertinently, he would be spending quality time with Joyce Byers.

The tiny doubt about whether it was right decision regarding Jane Ives' safety was dispelled by the voice in his head saying, "You deserve a break. You're worth it."

Hopper couldn't disagree with that sentiment.


	10. Sam Owens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Owens' first day of work at Witten National Laboratory, North Carolina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Apologies for long delay in turning out this chapter. Writer's block. 
> 
> 2\. Apologies if North Carolina geography and natural history don't make sense.
> 
> 3\. Apologies for making a character in Airwolf 2 a Brit. Convoluted inspiration. Son of Dick Van Dyke starred in Airwolf 2. Dick Van Dyke gave the world the worst 'Cockney accent' in Mary Poppins (1964). Makes no sense at all. LOL. 
> 
> 4\. Liberal use of bad language.
> 
> 5\. { mystery intruder storyline }
> 
> 6\. Appendices for list references/homages/influences/thoughts now separate chapter - Chapter 11 Appendix.

_"And upon its completion, those present_  
_were unable to do anything but stand and marvel_  
_in wonder and in awe at the sleek,_  
_black aerodynamic perfection..._  
_That was Airwolf._ "- Ernest Cline

**18th Tuesday December 1984**

**Witten National Laboratory, US Department of Energy, North Carolina**

Dr. Sam Owens braked and shifted his gear down to second as he crested a sharp bend on the wet road. He knew he was being overly cautious but his '56 Oldsmobile was laden with all his worldly possessions, items that his ex-wife's divorce lawyers had permitted him to keep. He was now effectively homeless. He had been living out of his suitcase since leaving hospital at the end of November. Upon being told of his new post at Witten, after sorting out a few tasks, he had checked out of the Washington hotel he had been staying in and begun the drive south to North Carolina.

During the long drive he spent too much time thinking on his recent divorce. The loss of his seven bedroom house, his collection of early twentieth century Americana and his newer car, the Mercedes-Benz 380, which his ex-wife, Sarah was probably now driving. Worst of all, he was reduced to seeing his own daughters, his own flesh and blood, Kate and Meghan, to a single day, the 28th of each month. He had stopped off that Monday evening to join the Christmas crowds in a shopping mail in Greensboro to buy presents for his daughters. Afterwards he had felt a little virtuous, he fancied how a good parent should feel, unlike previous years, when he would rush around stores on Christmas Eve, buying anything that was left on the shelves and hoping at least something he bought was close enough to what his daughters wanted.

A deafening shriek, a high-pitched mechanical whine from overhead shook the new site director of Witten from his thoughts. Owens craned forward to look up through the windscreen. Through the falling pine needles and twigs from the shaken tree tops, he thought he glimpsed the white underbelly of a helicopter flying away, low over the forest. The underside of a Bell 222, if he wasn't mistaken, recalling a not-so-distant past of his career where he would shuttle back and forth by helicopter rather than having to drive his own car. The noise of a banshee thought Owens as the sound of aircraft faded into the distance. At that moment, the steering wheel juddered in his hands and his attention was brought back to the road. He winced, Betsy, Owens liked to name his cars, definitely needed the attention of a mechanic, as her engine had periodically shuddered and rattled as he drove down from Washington DC. He reflected briefly whether he would regret not extending his stay in Greensboro to look for a mechanic rather than pressing ahead to Witten.

The road dipped away from him and he saw the pine-hardwoods had been cut back from the asphalt road. In the distance, there was a large oblong sign with a smaller one underneath. Soon he was able to read the black lettering against a beige background that told him the Witten National Laboratory belonging to the Department of Energy was five miles away. More trees had been felled as he approached his final destination. Then he saw the grey blistered walls and the black spaces, some with twisted frames, that were formerly windows of offices and laboratories. So this was the building Read and Brenner were referring to at the meeting yesterday thought Owens and wondered why it hadn't been knocked down given the fire had occurred more than two years ago. The burnt out building was only two stories high, if the conifers hadn't been cut back, the building would have remained hidden from the road. Beyond the barb wired-topped boundary fencing, he noticed another chain fence had been built around the burnt out building. Before, he could reflect further, a large red brick wall with white letters 'Department of Energy, Witten National Laboratory, Gate 1' came into view and further along Owens could see the red tiled roof of the gate enclosure.

****

The soldiers at the main gates to Witten National Laboratory looked through the contents of his suitcases and cardboard boxes that Owens had been obliged to open in their presence. Despite understanding that the appearance of a stranger inside a secretive government research facility necessitated increased security, Owens felt embarrassed as young men, barely out of their teens, with stony expressions on their faces, examined his personal possessions, poked around his Oldsmobile and asked questions about the bottles of medications he kept on his person. Eventually, the soldiers, finding nothing untoward, allowed him to untidily re-pack his gear and squash his clothes higgledy-piggledy back into his suitcases.

Owens slowly drove towards the Witten Research Laboratory building and discovered that the fire-damaged building he saw from the road was according to the signposts at a junction now called the Jackson Military Research Laboratory. He had gotten the impression from the report on the fire and from how Read and Brenner talked about it the day before that it was empty. His curiosity piqued, he stopped briefly to look down the avenue and could see in the distance a separate gate and a doubleheight wired fence around it. Half a dozen army trucks were parked within the fence and he saw soldiers milling around.

Eventually, after several hundred yards, the thick grey roof of the Witten labs came into view, standing over the evergreens and denuded deciduous trees. Breaking past the cover of the trees, Owens saw that the front and top of the building, looked like a table that had been placed over it. Grey columns situated at the corners held up the thick roof that jutted at least a two dozen feet away from the top. The building seemed to be constructed of a mishmash of beige concrete, red brick, glass and metal as if different architects had worked on each side of the building. Each floor was separated by a grey-blue band. Owens decided it was an ugly building, a 'monstrous carbuncle' as the Prince of Wales would have said. He saw the that one of top floor windows of the building was boarded up. He paused to scan the top floor on either side of the boarded window. Scaffolding had been erected next to one of the columns that was several feet away from the boarded window. Owens gauged whether was it possible for the intruder from last week to have swung over to the column and climb down.

As Owens drove towards the main car park of Witten, he saw men pushing wooden freight boxes from the backs of removal trucks towards the loading bay area of the building. He wondered what projects Doctor Read was going to assign to him at Witten. The car parking row closest to the building had been ringed off with yellow and black 'crime scene do not cross' tape. The rest of the car park was barely a quarter full. Owens deliberately parked his car at the furthest point from the entrance of Witten Research Laboratory building. As he turned off the car engine, he suddenly became aware from an accidental glance in the side mirror of his car that a group of soldiers were watching him intently, their gun hands close to the triggers of the rifles pointing, he felt, more towards him and Betsy than away. He slowly got out of his car, making sure his arms were held unnaturally away from his body.

"Doctor Owens!" a loud voice called from behind him. He saw the soldiers relax, shifting their rifle barrels away from him.

He turned around and saw an old man, heavy set with broad shoulders and a robust pot belly, and wearing ill-fitting, undersized, to Owens' eye, generic clothing of a security guard, lumbering towards him. The security guard waved to the patrol soldiers; they either nodded or grinned back.

"Welcome to Witten National Research Laboratories, sir! I'm Mister Williams, but please call me Stan. I'm here to take to your office and show you around, " said the security guard, after catching his breath and sticking out a meaty hand.

Owens shook the Stan's hand. The security guard hand were big and enveloped his own, he felt own hand get squashed during the handshake. He didn't think it was intentional. Looking at Stan's face, was like looking at a big puppy, enthusiastic and unmindful of its own strength.

"Aren't you going to take me to see the outgoing site director first ?" asked Owens, a little surprised as both men started walking towards the Witten Research Laboratory building.

"There hasn't been a site director since Doctor McDonough left this spring," Stan replied, his tone was apologetic, "I was told by Agent Frazier that I should greet you and help you in settle in, sir."

Owens frowned at the surprising news. Back in July, at one of the quarterly meetings at which all the Department of Energy site directors attended, he had listened to Doctor McDonough give a promising status report on cold fusion research. There had been no mention of his departure from Witten; he vaguely recalled the Witten name being on McDonough's presentation slides. He wondered why the steering committee had waited so long before assigning another site director to Witten.

He then remembered why he had parked his car such a distance away. He looked towards the Witten Research Laboratory, eyeing up the fourth floor window, about eighty yards distant. Then turned back to look at the boundary fence, more than a hundred yards away. The land beyond the car park went uphill and looked rough, hardly ideal as a running surface. The trees were saplings, still in their training frames and probably only newly planted in that spring or summer and too slender to afford any sort of cover against men searching for intruders. Too, that was assuming a human teenage girl could survive a fifty foot drop to concrete without sustaining injury and then perform amazing physical feats well beyond the norm of adult men. It was a puzzle thought Owens. He had been inclined to agree with Brenner that the intruder wasn't Eleven. But if it was Twelve what sort of power could she possess that rendered her bullet proof, run faster than an Olympic athlete and climb over a twenty foot fence topped with barbed wire without leaving any evidence behind. It had long been observed that none of the Numbers in the Projects rendered obvious physical enhancements, like superhuman strength. Maybe Twelve was an exception pondered Owens. 

"Sir?"

The security guard interrupted Owens' musings. The man's last words came back to him and he asked, "So Lead Agent and Agent Frazier are not here?"

"I believe they are elsewhere, sir."

Owens was relieved that those two Department of Energy agents were not around. Aside from their cold personalities, their actual presence made his skin crawl. According to Brenner, they were 'carbon copies of the original agents.' Their ubiquitous postings at each Department of Energy site across the country since the Seventies had been hailed by Brenner as an example of how the Numbers of the Projects could be guided and developed for utilitarian purposes, if their abilities could not be immediately weaponised or had direct application for national security. Owens had been glad that during his time at Hawkins National Laboratory that the Department of Energy had decided to not transfer another set of those two agents to him. The recollection of movement, brought another thought to mind, and Owens said to the guard, " Don't tell me that the group heads have been summoned to Washington."

"Yes, sir. None of the team leads are here."

Owens frowned, the slow seep of anger flaring up within him and directed at Read. She was making a fool out of him; undermining his authority at Witten even before he had arrived.

Stan watched Owens anxiously, before asking, "Are you here because of what happened last week with the break in and Gregory and Lloyd?"

Owens blinked and he took a deep breath, suddenly aware and a little embarrassed that the guard had caught in an unguarded moment.

"No, I'm not. The Director of the Department of Energy, Doctor Read is leading the investigation into what happened here last Wednesday! " replied Owens curtly. Almost immediately he regretted his tone of voice, seeing the guard looking at him confused and wary, Owens asked in a softer voice, "The military are still searching for the intruder outside of Witten?"

"I believe so, sir. They're even gone as far to search a couple of homes nearest this site."

"Oh, really? I noticed Witten is pretty far from Fairlanes," said Owens, "I imagine anyone living in the forest around here must be like a hermit."

"Hah, hah, yeah! That pretty much describes Hawke."

"Hawke?"

"Yeah, he's from England. He came here to Fairlanes in the Seventies, I think."

Owens straightened up.

"You know him well?"

"I wouldn't say that, sir. But he's a good guy."

Owens nodded towards the direction of burnt out building. "I thought the fire had destroyed the ....um, Jackson building. That it's empty."

"The old Kuhn site is not empty at all, sir. The research medical facility was not badly damaged. The site was handed back to the military very quickly after the fire. The electric fence went up at a few days after. The soldiers they brought to look for the murderer are based there."

"Murderer?"

"I thought you would be familiar with the incident, sir" said Stan, his voice reproachful," When Greg and Lloyd tried to apprehend the intruder, they were cut with a poisoned knife. They say it was a slow-acting poison. When they realised what happened it was too late."

Owens looked at the security guard, slightly amazed how the false news of a poisoned knife, presumably disseminated on the orders of Doctor Read, had so readily been believed. He couldn't help thinking of his own attempt at pulling the wool over the eyes over Jonathan and Nancy at Hawkins and how that had backfired spectacularly. Maybe adults were easier to fool compared to teenagers and children he concluded. His eyes alighted on the family name of the security guard on his official Department of Energy name tag. He looked up at the old man in front of him. The tell-tale signs of broken nose, the distorted and tortured ear, the still thick neck and large shoulder muscles stretching out the security guard jacket. The slight lilt to the the man's accent that seemed familiar, reminding Owens of a time that he had not thought about for many a year.

"Lloyd Williams was a relative of yours?" guessed Owens.

To Owens' chagrin, Stan's face crumbled, large tears began to roll down his cheeks. The guard snuffled, wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve and managed, "I'm sorry, sir. I still can't believe .... that he's gone. He .... was my nephew."

Owens patted the guard's beefy shoulder awkwardly. At that moment, he disliked himself intensely. He felt a fraud and a coward, shamed and tainted by keeping silent the involvement of Department of Energy in the deaths of Gregory Williams and Lloyd Jones. As he watched a grown man grieve over his nephew, Owens felt a growing detachment from the interests and purposes of the Department of Energy. It had probably begun that night when Chief Hopper had tourniqueted his bleeding leg on the stairway in Hawkins Lab. Standing behind the policeman, Owens saw, instead of a Number, a human being, a teenage girl, not much younger or different than his eldest daughter, Kate. He closed his eyes briefly as he contemplated the what if scenario of a remorseless, inhuman agency doing the experiments on his own flesh and blood.

But his pragmatism kicked in. It reminded him, that he was nearly sixty years. He was not too far from retirement, that if he kept his head down, to turn a blind eye, all these secrets and deceptions, questions about morality and patriotism would no longer be a concern. To distract himself and Stan, Owens asked," I thought I saw a family resemblance. You both played ....um, rugby, was it?"

Stan brightened up and said, "Yes, sir, us Williams' boys love our rugby. I only stopped playing in the seniors when I was by far the most decrepit in the team. My nephew Gregory was a promising flanker. Of course, he played football at school, but his old man and I worked on him and he saw the light in the end!"

The guard added, "If you don't mind me asking, sir. Your family originally came from Wales?"

"My grandfather came to America from Wales when he very young. I recall him saying the family were originally from ....um, where was it again?" said Sam Owens, struggling to recall the strange name, ".... Neath."

"Neath, huh? What a small world! That's not far from Llanelli, where I'm from! I came to America was I was mere lad too. Our family came over in the '20s. Have you ever visited Wales?"

"Of late, I've been thinking I really should," said Owens, hoping he sounded sincere. He asked, "So, how long have you been at Witten?"

"Too long," Stan remarked dryly, " I left the police force in my fifties and I've been working here since. Though I'm part-time now."

As they approached the reception of the Witten Building, Owens pointed to the boarded window near the corner and asked, "What have you heard about the escape itself?"

"People reckon the intruder somehow jumped onto the column and climbed down or swung down. Though how he did so without leaving bolts on the column or underside of the roof is the unexplained part."

Qwens nodded and asked, " The scaffolding was put by the incident investigators, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are they are still onsite?"

"No, sir. They've left yesterday, except for Goodwin."

"Curious. Is Goodwin here at work today?" he asked.

"No, sir. He's from Fairlanes. He visits family when he can. Likely to be at the Crocodile Diner, his brother runs it now."

"Crocodile Diner, huh? Are there crocs around here?"

"Hah, hah, no. George Goodwin, God bless his soul, wished there were when he named his new business."

Stan moved a few steps ahead of Owens, opened one of the double doors for Owens and announced dramatically, " Welcome to Witten National Laboratories, sir!"

Owens grinned obligingly at the security guard but his mind was ruminating over the information he had just received.

 

****

 

Owens drank from his lunchtime coffee, in lieu of lunch, as he perused the tattered posters stuck on the wall of the records office in the basement of Witten Building. They were posters reminding Americans that they were but moments away from total annihilation. He recalled seeing them in his youth but now as late, middle-aged man, looking at them again, the messages were still depressingly relevant today, almost thirty years later. Posters with messages like 'Fact #1 If an atom bomb drops we will not all be killed' or 'No military defense can prevent attack on our cities' were still true today he mused. The posters' fatalistic and grimly honest messages about the Cold War, essentially summed up his current bleak mood.

During the tour of Witten Research Laboratories, Owens learnt that only half of the laboratories in the the five-storeyed building, were occupied. He had spoken briefly with the few junior scientists working in the remaining labs. They were involved in legitimate research and development of renewable energy technologies, work that the public would have expected the Department of Energy to be doing. To his mind, renewable energy research like wind turbines and wave devices seemed pointless, he had read reports that there were plenty of coal and petroleum left in the world. Too, interesting work like the cold fusion project had been moved elsewhere. In his opinion, the work left at Witten now were only kept running because of the commitments made in the Energy Security Act passed by the Government a few years previous.

In effect, he had been demoted to oversee the dull work at the Department of Energy but Owens feared even that type of research role would not be his. He had found that the second floor of the Witten Research Building were no longer even laboratories. The lab benches, sinks, gas lines and associated labware had been removed and replaced by rows and rows of bookshelves. The people he mistook for scientists were in fact librarians in Howie labcoats, or looking at their name tags were now called 'information scientists'. The trucks had been unloading files and documents and not as he had assumed scientific equipment. As Sam stared down the long aisles of bookcases, he realised that maybe his future career was no longer to be a researcher on the cutting edge of science but relegated to a mere archivist, overseeing the safekeeping of data and information for perhaps the day another Department of Energy scientist to enquire after. At that epiphany, Doctor Sam Ebenezer Owens felt tired and old, the various aches and pains he accumulated over his life all seemed to pummel him at once. The wound of his recently bitten leg throbbed. He looked down at his hand; the knuckles white against tight skin and noticing suddenly the sprinkling of liver spots on the back of his prominently veined hand. The hand of old man. He had become the old nag put to pasture, he guessed the committee had presumably thought it a kindness to assign him this position, to allow him to accrue a full pension rather than kicking him to touch like Brenner.

Owens looked over at the wall of posters warning against the Red Menace, when a smaller poster, caught his attention, a red octopus with the face of Stalin sitting atop the Earth. Its tentacles reaching out and encircling Europe and America. It reminded Owens of the description that Chief Hopper had given of the ginormous, otherworldly denizen that had attempted to force its way between a jagged cut between worlds, underneath Hawkins Laboratory. He recalled the Hawkins police chief calling it the 'Mind Flayer' which Owens only later realised seemed too imaginative for the down-to-earth, no-nonsense pragmatic man that was Hawkins Police chief. He pondered again whether he should go find himself a typewriter and type out his own resignation letter but he knew he would regret that spontaneous act later.

The scuff of shoes against the floor caused him turn around to see the scrivener clerk to returning with his request for background and surveillance records. The clerk looked like a 1950s throwback, though a cow lick over thinning head of hair was not a good look in his opinion. The clerk placed the folder on the faux wood counter. Owens looked at the slim manilla folder, a small white label, with 'St John Hawke' type-written in black ink, placed near the top edge. He opened the folder, there were a few photographs and a few sheets of paper. He fanned out the photos. One was a faded black and white photograph of a young man in military uniform, he easily stood head and shoulders over the other men in the photo. Another of the same man older in civilian clothes fashionable in the Seventies and obviously taken with a telephoto lens. There was a news clipping from the mid-Seventies with the headline "Local Park Ranger Finds Lost Child". He leaved through the foolscaps, the first was a biography of St John Hawke with a stapled photocopy of the man's birth certificate and the second a list of notable activities while living in Fairlanes; both were short and Owens noted an unaccounted twenty year gap in Hawke's early adult life.

"Is that really a first name?" asked Owens, after skimming through the few sheets of information.

"It's pronounced 'sinjun', sir."

"He's very tall."

"Yes, sir. I've seen him, he's a big man."

"Is it that all we have?" Owens asked, " No tapes, no transcripts?"

The clerk shrugged and replied, " Coincidently I was assigned to Mister St John Hawke when he arrived. At first, he seemed interesting because of his military background...."

"His file is a bit short on detail," interrupted Owens, tapping the blank space under the '1950s' and '196Os' of the file on Hawke.

The clerk smiled knowingly and double-tapped the military photograph in response. Owens picked up the photo and studied it for a while.

"Sorry, I'm a bit ignorant about this sort of thing."

"Look at his beret."

Owens put on his glasses and peered at the cap badge on the soldier's beret. Within a shield, there was a winged dagger, the three words motto were indistinct.

"Not American, right?" offered Owens lamely.

"That's the insignia of SAS, the special forces of the British Army. Their motto is 'Who Dares Wins'. We did ask the British Government about his time with them but they never replied."

"What's with the lack of information since?"

"How can I say his. He's mostly boring. As far as we can tell, he's pretty much a hermit. He has no telephone line to his place; he has an arrangement with the Fairlanes post office that they can take messages for him which he asks for when he goes into town. Those calls seem related to his job as a park ranger. Only in the past few years has he had a television installed. But when he does come to our attention it's big. He made the headlines around here when a kid became lost in the National Park and Hawke tracked him down single-handedly; the news clipping there. And then the other time he helped the Chans who moved to Fairlanes a few years back deal with a bunch of locals who fancied themselves as mafiosa and were ripping the family off."

"Hmmm," said Owens, looking up from reading St John Hawke's file, "I would say an eventful early life. Parents died in boating accident. Uncle who emigrated to America becomes his legal guardian. Dual English and American citizenship. Made NFL draft but gave up a possible football career to join the British Army. He's never contacted his cousins since he's been here?"

"That's all the information we collected on him. You could trawl through the post office tapes. There's been no watch on him for a long time. Any info since are secondary sources. Though, the soldiers did search his place last weekend."

"Oh, this memo. From a Sergeant Sean Dixon? 'Nothing pertinent to the search orders was found. Hawke's place can be described as a mess or he is a collector of electic tastes.' "

"I wonder that means? He's unattached? No children?"

The clerk shrugged, "So, why are you interested in him?"

"Hmm, do I sign here?" said Owens. Perhaps being surrounded by 1950's cold war paranoia and suspicion, he felt his actions at Witten could be monitored, and added vaguely by way of an answer to the clerk's inquisitiveness, "Can't be too careful with what happened last week, eh?"

 

****

**18th Tuesday December 1984**

**Crocodile Diner, Fairlanes**

The day was beginning to darken, the low grey clouds cutting out the weak winter light. The garish neon light reflected off the wet tarmac; it had rained when Owens had drove to Fairlanes from Witten. Again he felt a frisson of excitement as he limped up the two steps to the main glass and metal door of the Fairlanes Diner. To leave the workplace to pursue his own personal agenda during working hours was something he has never done before. He had always been the loyal company man. An act formerly he would never have contemplated doing and for any employee working for him in the past, who committed such a misdemeanour, he would have censured using the fullest extent of his authority. Now this small act of rebellion made he a little giddy and a little wicked. He was like James Dean, or maybe Marlon Brando. The pragmatic part of him was bemused by what he was trying to achieve but he shuttered that voice of reason immediately. For most of his life, he had played by the rules of society but, if he was using street vernacular correctly, 'he had gotten shafted by the Man', despite being the dutiful father, faithful husband , hard-working family man and loyal employee of the American Government. It was as if he could see clearly now after the rains had gone, that the dark clouds that had blinded him were gone. He was no longer the same man who arrived at Witten National Laboratory that morning, he was .... he wasn't sure yet, but it felt good. 

There were only a few patrons at four thirty in the afternoon as Owens deliberately surveyed the interior of the diner. In part, to look for any signs of the crocodiles that was part of the diner's name. He couldn't see any, dead or alive. He stepped forward to the front counter. Behind it was an slightly built man, early middle-aged perhaps, with brown hair side-parted and wearing a crisp, white uniform. Looking at the man, Owens realised he didn't know the first name of the investigator who worked for the Department of Energy.

"Good afternoon, sir!" the man greeted Dr Owens cheerfully.

"Hey! A black coffee, please."

As the man returned with his order, Owens asked speculatively, "Are you the Goodwin brother who works for the Department of Energy?"

"No, I'm the Goodwin brother who owns this diner! My brother, Jeremy is in the kitchen."

The man turned towards the wall opening leading to the kitchen, "Hey Jem! Doctor Owens wants a word with you!"

"..?!" said Owens, his mouth dropped open in surprise, "You know who I am?"

The owner of the Crocodile Diner grinned broadly, "We're a small town. I wouldn't be surprised if the whole town knows who you are by the end of today."

 

A door, at the end of counter, opened. Owens couldn't help but stare. The man walking through the door was the splitting image of the man standing behind the counter. He was wearing the same clothes except that his sleeves were rolled up over sinewy forearms.

"Good afternoon, Doctor Owens," said Jeremy Goodwin, "What can I do for you?"

"Is there somewhere less public we can talk?"

Goodwin looked around at the customers seated in the booths, shrugged as if he thought Owens' request was overly fussy and said one word, "Kitchen."

He turned and walked briskly back the way he came. Owens picked up his coffee and limped after him.

Owens watched Goodwin put an stained apron on, pick up an onion from a tub, peel off the skin, dipped the onion into a container of water, before deftly cutting the vegetable into smaller and smaller pieces and then finally putting the chunks into another container.

"We can talk while I'm prepping for the evening shift," said the cook cum incident investigator, "You came out here especially to talk about last Wednesday?

"That obvious?"

Goodwin studied Owens for a minute before replying, " You not much like the last Site Director. That McDonough kid."

Owens chuckled, "I'm afraid I'm too long in the tooth to be a yuppy."

"No, not that; of course, it would be desperately sad if you dressed up like a popinjay at your age," said Goodwin bluntly, " You're at Witten because Read has finally achieved her ambition in becoming Research Director and you've surplus to her requirements."

"I didn't know her promotion was common knowledge," replied Owens, ignoring the man's last comment.

"You've just confirmed it, sir, " Goodwin looked up and smiled humourlessly.

Owens tilted his head and spread his hands, as if to say 'well played'. He asked, "What can you tell me about the break-in, unless you were told otherwise."

""I'm sure with your security clearance you're aware of what actually happened," said Goodwin going to back to his chopping, "You could say, given the lack of evidence for the presence of an intruder that the security guards staged the whole thing. But a day later Lloyd and Greg are dead from being poisoned, so we can discount it being a made-up story. "

"You found nothing, at all?"

"We don't know where the intruder entered Witten Laboratories. We don't know where they went inside the building. We can't explain how the intruder survived a jump from the fourth floor and disappear moments before a patrol arrived. We examined the car park, the column and the roof. Nothing. Maybe if we had months and examined each floor in turn something would turn up. But like before, the investigation was cut short."

"What do you mean like before?"

Goodwin swept the last chunks of onion into the chopped onion container. He then pulled a bucket of peppers over to the chopping block and picked up the topmost red pepper, halved it, deseeded the inside and chopped the flesh into small chunks.

"The fire at the Kuhn building."

"You investigated that too? Did it really start in the radioactive waste area?"

The investigator put down the knife, braced his arms on the block and looked at Owens,"I've been an accident and incident investigator for various agencies for some twenty years. The fire at that the old Kuhn building is the first one I've seen where wiring had been shorted in different parts of that building. From the plant room, next to the radioactive waste area, to a room next to the outer wall."

"That could be explained by sub-standard materials and poor workmanship."

"Definitely, not the materials. That was easily checked. Workmanship? Just too much coincidence for the pattern of multiple failures that we found. I like to think if I hadn't been replaced I would have found some explanation."

"Sorry. Pattern of failures? "

"I noticed the electrical shorts occurred in a straight line running from centre of building to the outside."

Owens paused, as he tried to recall his recollection of the accident report at Witten, and commented,"There was no mention of that in the published report on the accident."

In response, Goodwin tilted his head and stared unblinkingly at Owens.

When the penny dropped, Owens felt like a dullard. He said quietly,"Oh."

"Yes. I imagine the same author will pen this one, " said Goodwin, and added, "Though this time it is different. The military haven't yet erected an electric fence around the Witten Lab."

Owens eyed Goodwin and wondered how much the other man knew about the past Department of Energy research projects running at Witten, or about what the military were hiding at the old Kuhn building. He heard the bell ring, from the animated chat, he knew a number of customers had entered the diner. Goodwin looked past Owens to view the front of the diner through the kitchen pass-through and then looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. Owens followed the cook's gaze, it was nearly half past five..

"Doctor, I really got to finish prep. Looks like an early crowd tonight."

"Sure. Thanks for taking the time to talk. One quick question. I heard that the medical facility of the Kuhn building survived? You visited the site, other parts survived too, right?"

Goodwin glanced up his sped up his preparation of the peppers and replied, "You tell me. Why put so much security for a burnt out building?"

Owens nodded and made to leave the kitchen. When he reached the door, Goodwin added, "Hey, almost forgot! Last Wednesday night, the patrol were delayed in arriving at the Witten Labs because they were up by the electric fence around the Jackson building."

"What happened there?"

"Part of the electric fence was shorted. The word is they don't know what caused it."

 

*****

**18th Tuesday December 1984**

**A road between Witten Research Laboratories and Fairlanes, North Carolina**

 

Owens slammed down the hood of his Oldsmobile Rocket and shook his head in a mixture of frustration and amusement at his predicament. He was stranded between Witten Research Labs and Fairlanes because he had blithely ignored his own intuition that Betsy should have been looked at by mechanic. He wasn't entirely sure where he was in relation to Witten National Laboratories and Fairlanes. It had taken him a good thirty minutes to reach the outskirts of Fairlanes. The night sky was clear, the trees had been cut back from the road and he could make out the Big Dog and the Herdsman. He felt his own breathing and heartbeat were the loudest noises in the quiet of the roadside. He shivered and pulled the lapels of jacket closer to his chin. With his bad leg, it would foolish trying to walk in the dark and falling temperature at night. He limped around to the driver side of his Oldsmobile.

He caught a sound and looked both ways down the highway. He squinted, there was definitely a pair of lights coming down the road. Owens hoped whoever it was would stop and ask if he needed help rather than drive past.

He waited. As the vehicle drew closer, Owens ascertained by the headlights and noise that it was truck. As the truck drew closer, Owens shielded his eyes with his hand as the front lights of the truck bounced up and down on the bumpy road. As it drew closer, he recognized it as a '79 Ford Bronco. When it braked, the final spin of the front wheels dipped into a rut and threw wet mud onto his shoes and trouser bottoms.

The driver side of the window was already down. In the subdued light, the man's face mostly in shadow looked familiar.

"Doctor Samuel Ebenezer Owens, I presume?" asked the man, in an unmistakable English accent. Owens shivered, as if an icy finger had run down his spine. The man was St John Hawke.


	11. -{ Appendix }-

## Appendices Ch 01 - 010, 12-18

Appendix to list references/homages/influences/extra stuff for Chapter 1 to 10, 12-18

### Appendix

**++{ Chapter 1 Teenage Girl }++**

1\. Witten - famous physicist. As 'Hawkins' is kinda like 'Hawkings' ( Stephen Hawkings ).

2\. Greg ( Gregory Williams ) and Lloyd ( Jones), both of Welsh heritage with a love of rugby and imported Brains brew.

3\. How "Lead agent and Agent Frazier" are alive will be revealed later.

4\. Face-off between intruder and guards is homage to the 'telekinetic' scene in Losers (2010).

**++{ Chapter 2 Neil Hargrove }++**

1\. Jon Glen - directed several 1980s films in the James Bond franchise and physically resembles Logan Mann of Action Team (2018).

2\. Wrote this after watching Riverdale S1 on loop.

**++{ Chapter 3 Kali Prasad }++**

1\. Indian condiment idea inspired by real life Patak's Indian curry products.

2\. For purposes of fanfic, Kali is 19/20 in 1984. Whether intentional or not, IMO, Kali's powers kinda resemble Mastermind ( infamous X-Men 134 of ST S1 ).

3\. Ann Summers. X-Men reference or lingerie reference ; take your pick.

4\. Films inspiring this chapter: Prestige ( 2006 ) and Carrie ( 1976 ).

5\. Frost, Crowe and Gorman. Ill-fated grunts of Aliens 2.

6\. Fates of Seven and Nine will be revealed later.

7\. Doctor Everard Read and Doctor Joanna Philips will feature later.

8\. Trishul is trident weapon of the goddess Kali.

9\. "Do They Know It's Christmas?" - Band Aid 1984, charity record for famine aid in Ethiopia https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bjQzJAKxTrE

**++{ Chapter 4 Toni Bridges }++**

1\. Toni Bridges. Name of reporter in news clipping in ST S1 E6 . In this fanfic, an African-American journalist. Apologize in advance if cliche, thinking of Pam Grier.

2\. School uniform is from Malory Towers books by Enid Blyton.

3\. Obligatory nod to the anime schoolgirl with psychic powers trope. The Asian schoolgirl is one of Hawkins test-subjects.

4\. Film inspiring this chapter: Parallax View (1974).

5\. Dr Everard Read physically resembles Krystle Carrington from American TV soap of the 1980s. Complete with shoulder pads and brick-like cell phone.

6\. Litzi Danvers. Nod to Marvel Girl after watching trailer of upcoming movie.

7\. Drake Graham https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Drake_(musician)

**++{ Chapter 5 Sam Owens }++**

1\. The Sam Owens is one of more interesting characters in ST S2. Hope he turns up in S3.

2\. I thought it be more realistic to have Brenner suffer injuries after being jumped on by the demogorgon rather than escaping unscathed.

3\. Lookfar. Name of Sparrowhawk's boat. Wizard of Earthsea. Beautifully written book by Le Guin.

4\. Brenner's track record of keeping hold of those with psionic powers is pretty bad and so thought it might be interesting to have this thrown into his face.

5\. Clue to how Brenner is evading Eleven's tracking ability is in this chapter.

**++{ Chapter 6 Mike Wheeler }++**

1\. One of my favourite scenes of ST S1 E4 is the Mike & Eleven's bike ride through Hawkins. The scene music, the backlight ( reminiscent of nostalgia ) the look of wonder and contentment on Eleven's face is perfect.

2\. Maybe just me but I think Will likely to be a fussy eater.

**++{ Chapter 7 Lucas Sinclair }++**

1\. Bat out of hell - Meatloaf

2\. Devil Mouuntain, Wyoming. Close Encounters of the Third Kind.

3\. Food, glorious food. Oliver musical.

4\. Rom Spaceknight, Marvel Comics. Rom #17 & 18 : awesome issues starring the X-Men.

5\. 'O Elbereth!' uttered by Frodo Baggins in LOTR.

6\. Miles Dyson of Terminator 2 (1991). Inventor of Skynet. Dressed in homage as Tubbs of Miami Vice ( mid-1980s cop show ).

 

**++{ Chapter 8 Toni Bridges }++**

 

1\. Kinda laid it on thick but yeah, Ewan is a double ‘00’.

2\. Irish pub - Sawdoctors' (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WlRhzRsAHQw) song references.

3\. Slipped in stuff from Colossal Cave Adventure, Skyfall, Star Wars, Jewel of the Nile, Friends & Gravity.

4\. I thought it might be interesting to see imperfect control of psychic powers . Kids/late developers still learning to fine tune their skills.

5\. Katherine Hepburn. Hollywood actress, famous in 1940s/1950s.

6\. Binbrook Airfield, where Memphis Belle was filmed.

 

**++{ Chapter 9 Jim Hopper }++**

 

1\. Ironically for scenes that I imagined right at the start, this was one of the hardest to put pen to paper. What would make Jane / Eleven cry?

2\. Dean Firmly - who could it be? :D

3\. Dream Sara is singing 'Another one bites the dust' by Queen.

4\. The Day After https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Day_After - the film that made Ronald Reagan rethink his nuclear weapons policy

 

**++{ Chapter 10 Sam Owens }++**

1\. “Samuel took a stone and set it up between Mizpah and Shen. He named it Ebenezer, saying, ‘Thus far the LORD has helped us’” (Samuel 7:12).

2\. "Monstrous carbuncle" quote: https://www.princeofwales.gov.uk/speech/speech-hrh-prince-wales-150th-anniversary-royal-institute-british-architects-riba-royal-gala

3\. Airwolf Tribute to Ernest Borgnine: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=92qBDxTOoGk

4\. 'Dr. Livingstone, I presume?' http://www.funtrivia.com/askft/Question101145.html

 

**++{ Chapter 12 Connie Frazier }++**

1\. Project Hawkeye and Project Lookfar - made-up project names for Dept of Energy research into "psionics". See also Appendix ( Chap 05 ).  
  
2\. Inspiration: Minority Report, the Excalibur run by Chris Claremont and Alan Davis

3\. Randomly pulled some names of ex-WASPs players ( rugby union ) for a couple of the Marines.

 

**++{ Chapter 13 Lucas Sinclair }++**

1\. Inspiration: John Hughes' 1980s teen films  
  
2\. Keith Moon. Drummer. The Who  
  
3\. Be interesting to see how Stranger Things 3 resolves the Lucas - Keith deal over Nancy.

 

 **++{ Chapter 14 Benjamin Buck }++**  
  
  
  
 1. 'nil nisi malis terrori' - no terror, except to the bad  
  
 2. References: Tim Powers, Firestarter (1984)  
   
 3. Benjamin Buck is one of the journalists listed in the news clippings in Stranger Things.  
   
**++{ Chapter 15 Will Byers }++**  
1\. The Hawkins Post ( editor ) Valery Singleton  
  
  
   
**++{ Chapter 16 Lucas Sinclair }++**  
   
  
1\. Billy Hargrove is more than human?  
  
2\. Assume Dustin, Lucas  & Max watching James Bond would know what the Royal Arms signify.  
  
3\. Blackboard and chalk. From ye olde days before whiteboards and markers.  
  
4\. Vulcan grip on Mike from Will would probably be too much.  
  
**++ { Chapter 17 Toni Bridges } ++**  
  
  
1\. Banksy https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Banksy  
  
2\. Georgia, nurse that visits Ives' once a month to see how things are.  
  
3\. No idea if Becky Ives is older than Terry Ives in the canon. But dutiful but frustrated elder sister kinda fits.  
  
4\. 'Last Saturday' - 15th Dec 1984 - Snowball at Hawkins Middle School  
  
5\. Dean Firmly. Appears in Chapter 9 Jim Hopper ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/14489388/chapters/35870352

 

 **++ { Chapter 18 Kali Prasad } ++**  
  
1\. No idea how FBI wanted list was distributed in pre-Internet age.  
  
2\. In retrospect, I probably should made Dottie the enforcer during beatings rather than Axel because after re-watching Stranger Things Season 2 again. Axel seems way more cautious and less crazy than I remembered.  
  
3\. If you've read/seen Cronenberg and Rowling then the inspiration for main scenes are obvious: Seven's escape and 'power' and Joanna Philip's memories.  
  
4\. A friend pointed out similarity with X-Men First Class and Apocalypse which I not seen when I wrote first draft. I've now seen the relevant clips on Youtube after writing this. Not exactly a give away given the title of fanfic, no happy ever afters. { Though obviously theirs eventually have a happy ever after. }  
  
5\. Envisaged the old doctor with 'imperfect mind control' / 'super persuasive with loopholes' / ' proto-Jedi mind trickery' which I sort of portrayed.  
  
7\. Summers, Grey, McCoy, Worthington and Drake. Original roster of the X-Men.  
  
8\. Baden Powell. Founder of Scouts. Read a story about where he used drawings of butterflies to hid maps of enemy fortifications/positions.  
  
9\. 1984 Band Aid : https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Band_Aid_(band)  
  
10\. Rachel Green. Friends.  
  
11\. Stranger Things working title was 'Montauk'.  
  
12\. Other influences/references: Prestige, Stevie Wonder, U2, Akira (1988).


	12. Connie Frazier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connie Frazier escort duty goes pear-shape at Cranston Junction, Indiana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Warnings of sex, swearing and violence.
> 
> 2\. NSFW
> 
> 3\. Apologies for inaccuracies regarding US roads, US geography, US law enforcement escort procedures, Saigon and Vietnam history.
> 
> 4\. Deals with the road incident mentioned by Hopper in Chapter 9, sort of explanation of Owens' fear of Frazier and her long association with the Department of Energy.
> 
> 5\. FBI - Federal Bureau of Investigation
> 
> 6\. { mystery intruder storyline } { hopper unscathed? storyline } 
> 
> 7\. Appendices for list references/homages/influences/thoughts now separate chapter - Chapter 11 Appendix.

_"Hurry hurry hurry, before I go loco_  
_I can't control my fingers_  
_I can't control my toes, oh no"_ \- I wanna be sedated, the Ramones

**20th Thursday December 1984**

**Highway running from Kentucky to Indiana, near the Indiana and Kentucky border**

The lines on Connie Frazier's face deepened and she squirmed uneasily in her seat of the standard Departmental issue of the black Ford Crown Victoria that she was driving on the highway that ran between Kentucky and Indiana. She picked up the police two-way radio, clicked on the receiver and said," Sir, are we going through Indiana to Wisconsin?"

There was no immediate reply from the Lead Agent.

Frazier felt a prickly sensation at the base of her neck. She looked up at the road ahead of her, awkwardly rubbing the back of her neck with the hand holding the radio receiver. In the distance, the large, blue and red sign welcoming incoming drivers to the state of Indiana hung on an impressive arch of steel girders that spanned her side of three-lane highway. The primary colours stood out against the steel-blue nimbostratus. The sky felt oppressively low to Frazier, heavy grey clouds interspersed with curves of silver, spitting flurries of snow that had increased in intensity as they travelled up the interstate in Kentucky; a decision made by the Lead Agent when he decided to avoid a major road accident in West Virginia. The Lead Agent and herself were escorting an ambulance to Director Read's main research facility in Wisconsin, the Millikan National Research Laboratory that overlooked Lake Michigan. Inside the ambulance were Williams and Jones, the security guards from the Witten Research Laboratories, North Carolina. Both men according to the attending physicians at the Virginia military hospital, in a state of catatonia, for medical reasons yet unknown.

The interviews of both men, less than a week ago, was still vivid in Frazier's memory. Both had been straightforward interviewees. Both men, while naturally apprehensive about being questioned formally, gave clear recollections of their encounter with the black-clothed teenage girl that night at Witten Lab. Both gave accounts that matched. although, the younger man, Williams, had been embarrassed about his multiple missed shots during the incident and that the intruder had revealed herself to be a teenage girl. Frazier had seen many faces of liars and faces of people hiding secrets, both guards were, in her professional opinion, and by the way the Lead Agent acted too, though he never said much, telling their version of the truth, of what happened between themselves and intruder last Wednesday.

Under normal circumstances, Frazier would have let the men go after letting them suffer with uncertainty for a day or so alone in the holding cells. The power of holding innocent men or women for no good reason gave her a perverse thrill, a perk of working under the rule of law, she would rationalise in rare moments of self-reflection. Their misfortune was the minimal physical evidence left behind by the intruder and the appearance of Doctor Everard Read at Witten. After perusing the interview notes, the interim Director of Project Lookfar had declared that since all the evidence was entirely based upon the Witten security guards' testimony, they would make excellent first human subjects for a newly discovered truth serum she so happened to have in her Chanel clutch. Both the Lead Agent and Connie Frazier were old hands at watching government scientists conduct their mind-control experiments on unwilling members of the American public, but Read's audacity to experiment on individuals those families and friends were only several miles away from Witten was a first for Frazier.

The security guards' second set of interviews on the Friday of last week had involved testing the new truth-serum. Frazier had watched dispassionately as the inky green and black drug was injected into each man. The injection was particularly painful for the men as a large bore needle was used; Frazier had overhead Read say to the nurse the serum was 'viscous'. At first, she had misheard as 'vicious' which in retrospect given what happened later, was not an inappropriate adjective for the experimental truth serum. It was at that point that the hairs on Frazier' neck pricked up, she thought she saw for each man, the vein, where the drug had been injected, swell up, and undulate, almost as if an earthworm was wriggling within the the blood vessel. Each time the male nurse busy with discarding the used syringe didn't notice anything amiss. The effect of the drug was immediate. Both men became less cognizant of their immediate surroundings, less inhibited in their manner and speech, both chattering non-stop and Williams even started openly flirting with Frazier, to her disgust and the amusement of the Lead Agent. Their accounts remain identical to their first interview, aside from the flowery language and digressions, and curiously both insisted on calling the intruder, the 'child of power'.

Till that point, Frazier would have said the new drug had promise, after all, anything that made one's job easier, especially in law enforcement, was an universal wish for any worker. But the comedown from the new drug was for wont of a better word in her lexicon, unpredictable. The security guards' digressions started to include references to red skies, thunderclouds and lightning strikes, about the darkness approaching Witten. They had started sweating profusely and complained about being too warm and too humid. They became less coherent, claiming they were being watched by someone and he wanted them, staring middle-distance, over her and the Lead Agent shoulders, at something only they could see in their imaginations. And then something snapped in each man, both reacted differently. Jones had screamed, fell off his chair, voided his bowels and bladder, and curled up in his own filth, whimpering repeatedly, 'Oh, God! I'm fucked ! Oh, God! I'm fucked!'. Williams likewise screamed, backing away from an imaginary danger, beating at this body with frantic hands and screaming about cold black smoke touching his body and entering his body. For both men, during their frenzies, Frazier was certain the blood vessels in the men's necks undulated and pulsed abnormally, like something inside was crawling upwards to their brains, like nothing she had ever seen before.

Despite the men's precipitous comedown, Read had been pleased with the new truth serum and openly in the presence of Frazier talking to her team of scientists that the drug likely expanded the men's sensory acuity and possibly with more work it could be used to identify future recruits for the Projects. Even when the men had failed to wake up after sedation at Witten, and then doctors at the military hospital in Virginia also failed to coax them to consciousness, Read had rapidly directed the Lead Agent and Frazier to spread the story that the men had died after being poisoned unknowingly by the Witten intruder. Finally to Frazier's consternation, the new Director seemed convinced that the second interview lent weight to the teenage intruder being the Hawkins Lab escapee of the previous year. Read had managed to convince the Army to widen the search for the intruder outside of the Witten Labs, in spite of the fact they didn't have any evidence of where the intruder entered or left Witten. At the same time the Director had stopped the incident investigators from continuing their work at Witten. Frazier had attempted to argue that there was no evidence to confirm the identity of the intruder but had stopped short of excusing of Read of mis-using the incident in her one-upmanship with Brenner.

Though what mattered for Connie Frazier was that the Hawkins National Laboratory experiment would again become the obsession and downfall of another Director of Project Lookfar.

Eleven.

The name represented both fear and loathing to Frazier.

The Hawkins' Lab anathema had caused the many deaths, and accidents, of Agent Constance Frazier.

She recalled that fateful October night, a year past, in Hawkins Middle School, the first Connie Frazier had died, her brains turned to slurry by improbable physical forces manipulated by the fiery-eyed teenage girl. The death had unforeseen consequences for the other Connie Fraziers living and working in ignorance of the events taking place in Hawkins that night. Each Connie Frazier had suffered a sharp, sudden pain rippling through their head, radiating outwards from the back of their eyes, increasing in intensity till they blacked out. And then for the first time, felt each other Connie Fraziers' pain as the unfortunate few shuffled off the mortal coil to their deaths.

The next to die was a Connie Frazier, working in a joint operation with the FBI, in the midst of a shoot out with Russian gangsters, spasmodically jerked forward in pain, stepping out from a covering wall and into a hail of enemy gun fire.

Another had slumped forward over the steering wheel, taking her car and the screaming, handcuffed prisoner in the back seat through the bridge railings to a watery death in the South Fork River.

A third Connie Frazier, working undercover as a kitchen worker in a well-known fast-food chain, collapsed head first into the boiling oil of a deep fryer. She died later of third degree burns covering the top half of her body.

One woke up, naked on a bedroom floor, to the high-pitched screams of agony and rebuke from a lover whose manhood she had fractured when she passed out while she had been on top riding him cowgirl style in fragrante delicto.

She herself had woken up on the kitchen floor of her apartment, a spilt chili dinner and shards of broken dinner plate around her. Parts of her body tender to the touch as if she somehow experienced and survived each of the Connie Frazier's deaths she had just witnessed with all five senses. After composing herself, band-aiding a cut on her cheek, from a piece of a broken plate, and thinking she should see the physician to arrange tests, the rest of the evening had passed quietly. That was perhaps the last time, Connie Frazier was indifferent about her duplicate selves. For years, after being biologically xeroxed she had regarded the other Connie Frazier's as totally separate entities. Despite, all working for Department of Energy, their paths had rarely crossed. They had been charged to not communicate nor socialise with one another. But now after four of them had perished, directly or indirectly at the hands of the anathema, and she had glimpsed very briefly their lives, she had become more curious. In a moment of clarity inspired by polishing off a bottle of bourbon it was as if her the deaths had returned her humanity to the remaining Connie Fraziers whereas before it had been spread thin over nine individuals.

That night, she would have, what she later called, the dream. Normally, Connie never recalled her dreams, whether innocent, erotic or nightmarish. But since that night in October, whenever she woke up in the half-fugue state, betwixt sleep and wakefulness, she would be able to recall the details vividly of the dream. She wasn't sure if the details were historically accurate but as always they would be relate in some way to her duplicate selves. Careful questioning of her therapist suggested technically they were not dreams but more a replay of her past.

 

****

**Summer 1964**

**Saigon, Vietnam**

 That first dream in the series had began innocuously enough. The first time she was told she would have more than life, when she had travelled halfway across the world to Vietnam.

"Ma'am, be careful of the sewage," instructed the young Marine, in a Southern drawl, who had called himself Gump to Connie Frazier.

She trod carefully through the ordure of the alleyway that ran behind the terraced shophouses, situated close to the shanty town bordering the city walls of Saigon, Vietnam. The back of her hand failed to block the stench of the rotting waste. The walk was short, the bright oblong of light cast against the crumbling opposing wall of the alleyway signified their destination. Turning sideways she avoided the splinters of what remained of the wooden door hanging off its hinges and stepped into the narrow courtyard of the shophouse. The line of laundry had been cut down, boot prints of soldiers criss-crossed the predominately white shirts, trousers and dresses of the occupants. Plant pots had been kicked over, the formerly growing plants spilt on the ground, Frazier recognised aloe vera and calathea. Sitting on a stool, with her hands tied together, a young Vietnamese girl that Frazier didn't recognise from the files, looked up. Her eyes were puffy from crying but widen as recognition flickered across her face. Frazier inwardly cursed, she hated being recognised. It wouldn't surprise her if everyone in this foreign city knew that she was from the Department of Energy, working in conjunction with the United States Armed Forces, on a top secret research project known as Hawkeye. She had been assigned the role because of her background and fluency in a number of East Asian languages. Upon arrival she had reluctantly resorted to wearing loose clothes, a linen blouse and baggy trousers when she found her formal discreet trouser suit impractical in the high humidity of summer in Vietnam. She smoothed back a stray, damp blonde hair from her face. Even keeping her hair, in a top-knot bun didn't help with the humidity in Saigon. She envied the American soldiers with their buzz cuts.

The Marine standing guard by the broken door lowered his rifle but raised it again when he recognised her, and then grinned widely as Gump followed Frazier.

"Agent Frazier!"

The corporal still had the gawky lankiness of adolescence. Frazier wondered if he was even old enough to drink alcohol legally back home in the United States. The man looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on the visible skin revealed at the top of her unbuttoned blouse.

"The understanding was that the operation be conducted quietly, Gomarsall. The situation is already tense enough, " said Frazier indicating the broken door and the chaos inside the courtyard, annoyed by his blatant appraisal of her body and going straight to the point bypassing the formality of greetings," and who is this?"

"Don't you think I know that? At least, we've acquired the asset. Her? I think she's just a family friend, " replied Gomarsall defensively.

"And the rest of the family?"

The corporal grimaced, "I'm afraid the brother escaped. And their mother is dead; she cracked her head on the stove when she slipped."

"Shit!" Frazier fumed. She had predicted to the commanding officer back at Da Nang that the extraction of a person on interest would go wrong if they didn't use a larger team and more experienced soldiers. She had found out a little too late that the assigned Staff Sargeant had authorised the operation when their observer reported the small family were together.

"Where's the younger sister?"

The corporal shrugged, "She wasn't here."

"The asset is unharmed?"

"Umm," hedged Gomersall, "You had better see her for yourself."

Frazier followed the corporal to the rear of the shophouse, ducking to avoid braining herself on the doorway lintel. She found herself in a room which to her eye served as kitchen and dining room. The smell of incense and spices was strong. Various low stools sat against a wall, upon which hung many small portraits. In a corner, there was a dedication to a Buddha idol. A low table had been broken in two. Various vegetable peelings and nut shells were strewn on the floor, along with upturned bowls. By the stove, a mass of grey clothes with a spray of white hair mixed with darkening red blood was presumably the dead old woman. On the kitchen floor, kneeling, a young Vietnamese woman, Frazier recognised as the person of interest, was rocking back and forth. Her hands intertwining repeatedly and her eyes open but rolling independently one of one another in their sockets. The young American soldier left to guard her, was wide-eyed and pale, his bony hands visibly shaking while grasping his rifle, jumped when Frazier and his corporal walked into the room. Narrow stone steps led to the rooms upstairs, from where she heard the noise of objects crashing to the floor and the stomp of boots.

"Abbott, for fuck sakes, pull yourself together!" advised his corporal.

"Why is he spooked?" asked Frazier curiously.

"We wanted her to move, so Abbott took her arm and then all of a sudden, let her go as if he had been electrically shocked. After that nobody wanted to touch her till you got here."

Frazier shook her head incredulously at the explanation and walked over to the kneeling Vietnamese woman.

"Hey, get up!" Frazier said in Vietnamese, grabbing the shoulder of the kneeling woman at the same time.

Her right hand, her arm and shoulder tingled sharply, momentarily intensely painful and then went numb. Her head pulsed with excruciating pain, as if it was trapped between a slowly compressing vice. She heard a slow, loud squelching sound and then simultaneously she went deaf and blind. She felt fluid ooze out of her ear holes, and flow like tears from her eyes. The pain peaked to a crescendo and then stopped. Her epiphany at the realisation of what the sound signified made her gasp in horror. She staggered back from the kneeling woman. Frazier felt a wave of nausea crash over her, the undertow pulling her under making her gorge rise, her working hand clamped over her mouth as her last meal vented and dribbled out the corners of her mouth.

The Department of Energy agent stared at the Vietnamese woman, who had stopped rocking and now studied her with blood-shot eyes.

"That was your first death, woman of nine lives," intoned the Vietnamese woman solemnly.

"What are you?"

Frazier watched a blood red tear trickle down the cheek of the woman's left eye, the woman replied sadly, as if something important had been forcibly taken from her, "I am .... Four."

The look on the young woman's face stayed with the agent for a long time after she woke up.

****

**20th Thursday December 1984**

**Highway running from Kentucky to Indiana, near the Indiana and Kentucky border**

As the convoy passed underneath the 'Welcome to Indiana. Crossroads of America' sign, the radio crackled and Frazier heard the Lead Agent's reply, "Yes. It's the fastest way to Millikan."

It was not the answer that Frazier wanted to hear.

 

****

**20th Thursday December 1984**

**Near the Cranston Junction, Indiana**

The prickly sensation in Frazier's neck gave way to a growing tightness in her chest, increasing the further they drove into Indiana.

Eventually, she saw the green and white sign for 'Cranston Junction' on the side of the highway. It was the turning they would take if they were going onwards to Hawkins. The town's name triggered something in Frazier's mind. She sensed something was wrong. That something very bad was going to unfurl within the next few moments. She deliberated whether she should radio ahead to the Lead Agent.

The wind had picked up and the snow was coming down fast. Then the red and white ambulance in front of her began to swerve on the wet road, moving from side to side, each swerve getting larger. Frazier frowned, what the fuck was the ambulance driver doing she thought as the vehicle's last swerve caused it to go outside of its own lane, almost hitting sky blue Toyota Cressia driving alongside in the next lane. The driver of the Toyota honked its horn furiously at the near miss. Frazier watched the Toyota driver accelerate to gift his one finger salute of contempt towards the ambulance driver but instead he stared. Frazier had the impression the Toyota driver was witnessing something unexpected, out of the ordinary.

In that instant, it seemed to Connie Frazier that time slowed and she saw in detail, each action and consequence as the accident unfolded before her eyes on the opposite side of the highway.

"No, no!" she said out aloud.

The ambulance stopped swerving. It sped directly towards the central barrier dividing the highway. The back of the truck swaying as it picked up speed and then smashed into the metal barrier with a loud bang. To the agent's shock, contrary to the received wisdom that the barrier would absorb the force of the speeding vehicle, slow it and keep it away from oncoming traffic, the opposite happened. The hospital wagon pivoted against the central barrier which snapped under the strain, flipping over onto the opposite lane of the highway. The ambulance keeled over onto its side in front of an oncoming Volkswagen Beetle. Frazier saw that the woman driver had her attention directed to children in the backseat. The crash of the ambulance brought the woman's gaze back to the road. The woman opened her mouth in a silent scream. Reflexively, she yanked the wheel of her car rightwards to avoid the fallen hospital wagon and smacked into the path of a dump truck overtaking a car in the slow lane. The Mack tri-axle barreled into the side of the Volkswagen, partly crushing it under its front wheels and began a sideways slide down the highway. The drivers coming up behind the Mack truck and the Beetle braked to avoid the skidding truck and prone ambulance. But the road was too slippery and they hit the truck and ambulance. The following cars slammed into the first arrivals, and then the following cars piled into the back of each other, the effect propagating down the highway.

Frazier resisted the temptation to stop. There was nothing she could do on the wrong side of the highway. The lead agent's car was still driving ahead. She looked into the rear-view mirror as she departed the site of the pile up, she saw a fire had started from somewhere amongst the metal wreckage, the rising black plume visible against the swirling snow.

Frazier picked up the two-way radio and demanded, " What the fuck happened? What did you see?"

"It was the guards. They attacked the two paramedics up front from behind, " replied the Lead Agent.

"How's that possible? The doctors said they were immobile?!"

"The fuck I know?! God, this is a mess!" said the Lead Agent, "Take this junction. Let's find out what's left. Remember we can't let the locals know this was ours."

It was then Frazier realised that the feeling of dread that had been haunting her since entering Indiana had not dissipated.


	13. Lucas Sinclair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith catches up with Lucas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Expands on the deal Lucas made with Keith of the Palace Arcade in Season 2, Episode 5.
> 
> 2\. Apologies if tenses are all over the place. Supposed to be written in British English grammar.
> 
> 3\. The Neil Hargrove ( Chap 2 ) / Lucas Sinclair ( Chap 7 ) storyline.
> 
> 4\. Fanfic assumes Keith is a senior.
> 
> 5\. { hargrove storyline } { hopper unscathed? storyline }
> 
> 6\. Appendices for list references/homages/influences/thoughts now separate chapter - Chapter 11 Appendix.

_"Any fool can get into college. Only a select few can say the same about Amanda Jones."_ \- Laura Nelson  
  
  
**20th Thursday December 1984**  
  
**The Palace, Hawkins, Indiana**  
  
Lucas Sinclair glanced over at the two kids by the Galaga arcade machine with a mixture of frustration and impatience. They were still playing. The current gamer was doing nicely against the swooping alien forces. Lucas had been in the mood for a bit of random killing of the pixelated variety after an unsatisfactory day but had found the Palace on a Thursday evening already busy as if it were a Friday or Saturday night. No doubt like himself, every Hawkins kid knew that school was effectively over for 1984. The Friday half-day was just a formality, the next twelve days of no school was effectively in session. He had picked the old Space Invaders cabinet, flanked by an older arcades with faulty screens, Circus and Kingdom, to play on because it had been the closest working machine that was near enough for him to keep an eye and an ear on the kids around Galaga.  
  
His less than brilliant Thursday, was probably down to his anxiety about Christmas and his report card Lucas concluded, as he got into the regular sideways rhythm of blasting away the advancing alien menace. After his mother had suggested that his family would invite the Hargroves for Christmas Day, he had been uncertain whether he should give Max an advance warning that they could be sharing Christmas Day together. Or to more exact, spending a significant of time together than if the families were having separates Christmases in their own homes. His reluctance in telling Max about about Christmas was down to his personal bogeyman, Billy Hargrove. After staying away from Billy for several weeks, the idea of having to spend a significant amount of time being hospitable and jovial around him was not an attractive proposition. In any case, his indecision about informing Max was now moot, as the church social had taken place earlier that afternoon, and presumably the Hargroves would know that evening, about the Sinclairs' offer. And now his anxiety was more about  Max being annoyed that she was not told beforehand. This boyfriend-girlfriend business was not straightforward he thought, not like knocking chunks out of the alien mothership. Too, his report card from Hawkins Middle School was not up to his usual high standards. He has half-afraid that his parents would blame the presence of a girlfriend as a distraction from his school work and maybe even ban him from seeing Max. This was uncharted territory for him. He wasn't sure his parents would consider doing that and what he would do if they did. It all added to the pot of uncertainty and fear that was stirring inside of him.  
  
"Well, well, well, if ain't Lucas Sinclair gracing the arcade," drawled a voice behind Lucas.  
  
Lucas blasphemed inwardly, Keith was supposed to have the day off from work at the Palace. He paused before saying brightly, not turning around, "Hey, Keith!"  
  
"We need to talk, Sinclair," said Keith still standing behind Lucas.  
  
"Can't you see I'm playing!"  
  
"Space Invaders, huh? What are you, an old man?" said Keith disparagingly.  
  
Lucas risked a glance back at Keith. The dermatologically challenged youth was not holding his customary bag of Cheetos but a broomstick minus the brush. By the way Keith was glaring down at him and the white-knuckled grip he had on the broomstick, Lucas didn't think he could squeeze past him without getting caught or whacked by the stick. Keith had effectively boxed him in. For which he had nobody to blame but himself.  
  
He turned back to the game and just managed to avoid an alien bomb from obliterating his laser cannon. He shrugged and said, "It's a free country, I can play whatever I like."  
  
"You've been avoiding me, right?"  
  
"What are you talking about? I've been busy!"  
  
"Uh huh! You and your little friends have switched over to coming on Fridays when you know I'm not working."  
  
"I didn't know you missed us, Keith."  
  
"Finish the game. We need to talk about our deal."  
  
"No way, I got a good feeling about this game."  
  
Keith didn't reply and momentarily, Lucas thought he had walked away, when he heard a sharp click and suddenly the bright coloured graphics of the Space Invaders game screen in front of him collapsed to a flash of light and went black.  
  
Lucas turned around angrily, saw that Keith had turned off the power switch to the arcade machine in the ceiling void, and demanded, "What the hell are you doing!? I was playing! I want my quarter back!"  
  
"Not till we talk about our deal, squirt!"  
  
Keith's face bore more than a passing resemblance to an ugly beetroot. Lucas raised his hands in the universal conciliatory pose, eyeing the acned-youth warily and said placatingly, "Okay, okay, calm down, I'm still working on it."  
  
"Oh, have you now?! We made the deal back in October. It's now nearly Christmas. And still no sign of you hooking me up with Nancy Wheeler?!"  
  
"Hey, these things take time," said Lucas smoothly, "You got to lay the groundwork, you can't rush these things, y'know the tortoise and the hare, you got to put the girl in the right frame of mind, you got to pick the moment...."  
  
"You're sure about that?" interrupted Keith," You didn't think the Middle School Hawkins Dance was a good moment?"  
  
"What?!" Lucas stared at the older boy. What self-respecting senior would even consider going on a date surrounded by middle schoolers he thought incredulously.  
  
"Story going around Hawkins is that Nancy Wheeler danced with your friend Goofy."  
  
"Hey, zit-face! It's not nice calling people names! " said Dustin with his customary broad grin on his face, from behind Keith. Lucas relaxed. The cavalry had effectively arrived. Keith wouldn't dare stop him leave now that his friend was around. He just had to ensure in the future, that if he wanted to keep coming to the arcade, he would have to remember to keep track of Keith's work schedule at the Palace.  
  
Keith jabbed a finger towards Dustin and said to Lucas, " You set up Nancy with that but not me?!"  
  
"Hey, hey!" Dustin said jocularly, "Nancy was attracted by my abundant, natural charisma and my shiny, new ivories." He purred loudly. Lucas put his hand to his face and shook his head - Dustin was not helping at all.  
  
"You know what I think?" said Keith, after taking a moment to recover from the sight of Dustin's dentition and weird cat noise.  
  
"That you are capable of thinking?" taunted Dustin. Lucas grinned approvingly.  
  
"You need an inducement, Sinclair. A deadline, to get things moving. Or shit happens and you and your little friends will suffer the consequences of your failure," said Keith, ignoring Dustin, "Like maybe, you and your little friends getting banned from this arcade....for life."  
  
"What's he talking about, Lucas?" asked Dustin.  
  
Lucas shook his head slightly, urgently trying to communicate non-verbally to Dustin to not ask questions, when Keith looked towards Dustin.  
  
"You can't threaten me, Keith!" said Lucas, " You don't own this arcade."  
  
"Oh, can't I? I've heard you and your little friends are science whizzkids. Maybe you've come up with a gizmo to let you play arcade games for free."  
  
"We wouldn't do that!" said Lucas," I mean, I don't think it's possible?!"  
  
Keith patted his jeans pocket deliberately, drawing Lucas' attention to an outline of an oblong the size of a cigarette packet. He was pretty sure Keith was a non-smoker. If Keith had acquired such a device would he really stoop as low as to present fake evidence to the owner of the Palace arcade. Aside from Keith's threat, his parents would invariably find out and the thought of disappointing them made Lucas afraid and a little queasy.  
  
"What's he talking about, Lucas?!" asked Dustin.  
  
Keith considered Dustin. Cannily he said to Lucas, " Your little friend Goofy doesn't know?"  
  
"He knows! He knows!" Lucas replied hurriedly, nodding at Dustin to play along; trying desperately to come up with an idea to get out of this horrible situation he found himself in.  
  
"Yeah, I know, I know! He knows I know. He sure knows I know," Dustin said, following Lucas' lead obligingly.  
  
"So you know Sinclair here agreed several weeks ago to set me up on a date with the hottie, Nancy Wheeler?" said Keith grinning like a Cheshire Cat.  
  
Dustin stared at his friend. Lucas smiled weakly and gave a feeble thumbs up.  
  
Dustin looked back at Keith, who was looking at him expectantly, his mind whirring and he grinned broadly, " Of course! Of course, Lucas told me! We're pals. We're more than pals! We are in fact, best pals. The bestest of pals! You know what means?!"  
  
"Remind me?" said Keith shortly.  
  
"It means that we tell each other everything," said Dustin expansively, "Absolutely! Positively! Everything! Because we are the bestest of pals! "  
  
"Yeah," Lucas gave his best grin when Keith looked at him, whilst hoping Dustin had more than balderdash.  
  
"Right, so when are you two going to set up me with Nancy."  
  
"You see Lucas, the modest guy that he is, was actually waiting for me to arrive, at the Palace, so that we together would tell you the good, no, dare I say, the great news!"  
  
"Great news?" Keith looked at Dustin suspiciously.  
  
Dustin took a step away from the much larger boy.  
  
"Picture the scene. You, Keith Moon, mediocre student of Hawkins Senior School, videogame player of some skill, humble employee of the Palace Arcade have for a long time carried a torch for fair Nancy Wheeler!" said Dustin extravagantly, thumping the left side of his chest.  
  
Lucas shook his head at Dustin's theatrics but hurriedly smiled and nodded when Keith, with a sceptical look on his face, glanced back at him.  
  
"But alas, Nancy, the inconsiderate maiden that she is, does not see you in the same light."  
  
"How's that good news?!" growled Keith.  
  
"Hey! Let me finish! It's your good fortune you know us. We could make your dream come true. With our help, you may be able to take the first step ...."  
  
Lucas raised an eyebrow at Dustin and wondered if Steve Harrington had slipped his friend some pot.  
  
"Right?! Cut to the chase, when is Nancy going to meet me here?" interrupted Keith.  
  
Dustin looked at Keith. Then he looked at Lucas. Keith pointedly re-gripped his broomstick while looking at Lucas.  
  
"Umm, not here!" squeaked Lucas.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Ask yourself this question. Ever seen Nancy Wheeler here in the arcade?"  
  
"True, that. Then where?"  
  
Lucas' mind went blank.  
  
"The Starcourt Mall! said Dustin hurriedly.  
  
"The Mall?!" said Keith.  
  
"Yes, but you need to ....," Dustin paused dramatically.  
  
"What?!"  
  
"How can I put this. You are aware in this day and age, how a boy meets a girl? "  
  
"Don't give me the birds and bees shit! When and where, Goofy?!" said Keith, taking a step closer to Dustin.  
  
Dustin stood his ground and replied, "No! You don't understand, Keith Moon! You really think it looked good that a couple of middle schoolers acted on your behalf? You think any girl likes a wimp?! That you didn't have the balls to ask her out yourself."  
  
"I've the balls to beat you up!"  
  
Dustin laughed derisively, " You touch me, your chances with Nancy are gone for ever! I'm her favourite amongst Mike's friends."  
  
Lucas swore inwardly at his friend's boast. Again he assessed how much space he had to squeeze past Keith and how much it would hurt getting hit by a wooden stick.  
  
Keith glared at Lucas, took a step towards him and stated, "We had a deal. I kept my side of the deal and now you want to squirm out. I'm going to ban you after I .... "  
  
"Hey, not so fast, don't you remember I said ? The Mall!" reminded Dustin.  
  
"Right. Enough! When and where?"  
  
An idea popped into Lucas' mind and he interjected, "You see popular, beautiful girls like Nancy like to date men with the right stuff. "  
  
"What do you mean the right stuff?" Keith asked uncertainly. Dustin looked askance at Lucas' intervention.  
  
"You failed to ask her out yourself. That does not look good at all, in any woman's book. But, Nancy is willing to give you a chance."  
  
"She is?"  
  
"Yes! " declared Lucas," She has set you a challenge. If you succeed you might indeed have the right stuff to interest her. You find her at the Starcourt Mall on Sunday afternoon, she go on a date with you at the Mall."  
  
Keith's expression remained unconvinced. He said, "But the Mall is a big place."  
  
"Do you have the right stuff, Keith?" said Lucas, "Should be a cinch for a manly man!"  
  
Keith frowned at Lucas' taunt.  
  
"Hey, Lucas!" shouted Max. The redhead pushed past Dustin and Keith, and gave Lucas a peck on the cheek before hugging him.  
  
"The right stuff," commented Dustin to Keith, jerking a thumb at Lucas.  
  
Keith watched Lucas and Max hugging with a mixture of disbelief and envy. He glared at Dustin and Lucas, declaring, before stalking off, " You better not be lying, or I'm going to beat you both black and blue, you little squirts!"  
  
"Nancy likes guys with good hygiene! " Dustin called after Keith's retreating back, determined to have the last word.  
  
"What was that about?" asked Max, looking at Dustin.  
  
"I dunno, that's makes two us. You better tell us the whole story, dude," said Dustin turning to Lucas.  
  
"I had no choice, guys! I needed somewhere quiet where I could talk to Max about what happened last year, about you know who. The backroom in the arcade was the perfect place. So I promised Keith that I set him up with Nancy if he let me use the backroom. But he's angry that nothing has happened since Halloween."  
  
Dustin said, "Now you got Keith thinking if he finds Nancy at the Mall on Sunday afternoon, she will go out with him. Boy, is he going to be disappointed. And that's assuming Jonathan isn't around to deck him, if Keith is too rude."  
  
"Good plan of mine, right?" grinned Lucas.  
  
"What is wrong with you?! " declared Max, shocked at the Lucas' admission, and slapped him across the face.  
  
Lucas touched his stinging cheek in surprise, " What was that for?!"  
  
"For being a jerk, Lucas Sinclair! What right do you have, to use Nancy as a bargaining chip!?"  
  
He flushed and replied," I was desperate, Max. I wanted you to understand why we were acting the way we were. I'm sorry."  
  
"I'm not the one you need to apologise to."  
  
"But I can't tell Nancy! She go straight to Keith and tell him no way Jose!"  
  
"Your plan is so dumb. It's going to fail anyway, " said Max shaking her head.  
  
"What do you mean dumb?" said Lucas, " We had to improvise! Keith was seriously ready to knock our blocks off!"  
  
"Hey, don't bring me into your mess. I wasn't going to suggest that Keith play hide and seek with Nancy!" said Dustin hurriedly. He added, "Dude, you broke so many party rules with this crazy deal of yours I don't where to start!"  
  
"Fine! I pay the penalties but just let my plan run its course!"  
  
"What?! You just said yourself, he was ready to beat you up with a stick in front of people. Keith has more than a few screws loose. There's no telling what he'll do when he realises on Sunday afternoon that he's been tricked," said Max.  
  
"That's just Keith; all mouth, no guts," said Dustin dismissively.  
  
"No, he was threatening to show fake evidence to the owner so that we get from banned for life. It didn't look like he was bluffing," said Lucas.  
  
"Je-sus! Lucas," Dustin shook his head, "What have you done!?"  
  
"That's why my plan is perfect, " said Lucas, "Keith won't find Nancy because she won't be there at all! And he's so afraid of any girl, let alone any that he fancies, that Nancy, and for that matter Mike will never need know this ever happened."  
  
"I wouldn't be so sure of that. You need to tell Nancy at least," advised Max, "Keith may well be pissed off enough to confront Nancy later on.  She won't have any idea what he's ranting on about. And really, do you want the Wheelers finding out what you agreed to behind their backs?"  
  
"Friends don't lie," reminded Dustin, " You need to tell the Nancy and Mike."  
  
Dustin held Lucas' gaze, till his friend looked down and sighed.  
  
"You're right, you're right, I know, I messed up, " said Lucas, and added self-pitingly, " I'm going to get banned from the Palace for life."  
  
Lucas shook his head, Thursday 20th 1984 was now officially a bad day in his life. Then he recalled the exchange earlier and what Dustin said about plans.  
  
"What were you going to suggest?" Lucas asked Dustin.  
  
"Oh, I was going to say that Steve Harrington would probably agree to give zit-face some coaching on matters female."  
  
"Why didn't I think of that," said Lucas, "That's brilliant!"  
  
"I dare say I am," beamed Dustin immodestly.  
  
Outside of Dustin's peripheral vision, Max rolled her eyes.


	14. Benjamin Buck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nine and Ten make a house call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Apologies if tenses are all over the place. Supposed to be written in British English grammar.
> 
> 2\. Benjamin Buck, named journalist in the news clippings seen in Stranger Things re. Hawkins Labs.
> 
> 3\. Apologies for medical inaccuracies.
> 
> 4\. Death.
> 
> 5\. { investigative journalism storyline} { hopper unscathed? storyline }

_"Come closer, as now that you're near,_  
_I promise no pain... "_ \- Javah, One by One  
  
  
**20th Thursday December 1984**  
  
**Surburban house in Hawkins, Indiana**  
  
Benjamin Buck looked out at the freshly fallen snow in his backyard as he waited for the recipient of his phone call to pick up. Winter had come he thought. There had been a certain brittleness to the air in the days previous that had presaged this moment. Still, it always surprised him when the first snowfall occurred during the daytime. The snowflakes, falling fast, swirling around in diminishing circles, settling upon its white brethen, till before his eyes, layer by layer, a blanket of snow rose. Benjamin felt familiar contentment associated with being warm and secure when the world outside was cold and seemingly harsh. At least his knees were thanking him for staying inside he grinned ruefully. He was glad he took a passing comment of an associate, and purchased Tiger Balm from a dingy store in Chicago's Chinatown to rub into his decrepit joints. He was wary of modern medicine. Ever since, he 'accidently' stumbled into a laboratory with cages of rabbits being tested on for god-knows-what by solemn men in freshly-pressed white coats, he had viewed scientific research as the symptomatic of the amorality of modern society, obsessed solely with benefiting itself with no thought for consequences to the natural world. Any time he looked at a bunny rabbit, he would recall the frantic, high pitched squeals of the experimental mammals scrabbling against their cages.  
  
"Hey, Valery. It's Ben. I've finished the article. Besides the floppy, I'm going to print out a hard copy for you too. "  
  
Benjamin Buck tapped the ash off his Camel cigarette and glanced at computer monitor as he saved his work onto the mini-floppy diskette.  
  
"Sure, I'll put the disk in a hard case. What do you mean I was careless?! You crushed that disk with that jumbo-sized coffee mug of yours!"  
  
"Well, maybe we should start using those micro-floppies. They seem sturdier.... what? "  
  
"Valery! I'm basically retired and twice your age!  I can keep up with new technology! Oh, Wordstar still acting up for you? Will you be in the office tomorrow morning? Okay, I'll give you a hand then. Give me a sec....ah, finished saving...."  
  
Ben flipped the retainer switch, carefully withdrew the mini-floppy from the drive slot, eased it into a sleeve and then to the safety of a hard plastic diskette box.  
  
"What? Am I good for that interview with the alleged miracle worker at the Gray Army?"  
  
"Sure! If he was genuine article, you really think the Government or corporations would let him run around the country laying hands in church congregations? They would have locked him up in some top secret research centre. Spend the rest of his life being poked and prodded by the cruelty merchants. Anyway, have you told Greg it's tomorrow morning?"  
  
"No?! Hold on, hold on! There was a pile up outside Cranston Junction? How many cars?"  
  
"Really? Woah! That's a major incident. Any idea how it happened?"  
  
"Wow! An ambulance jumped the central barrier! My God, any idea of the casualties?"  
  
"Who's out there? Jen and Greg. Hmmm, that looks a good story, wish I was younger."  
  
"So who have you got as my 'tog for tomorrow?"  
  
"What?! You want me to babysit a wannabe photographer from Hawkins High? "  
  
"Byers? Hang on! Is he any relation of the kid who disappeared for a week a few years ago? His elder brother? If he produces crap photographs, you'll be to blame, you know that. Huh? Those views of Hawkins in the cinema lobby are his? They're alright, I guess. So he knows his way around a camera but taking pictures of people in action is a lot different though."  
  
"Are you sure? Fine, tell the Byers kid to come around to my place tomorrow for nine sharp. We go together. It's gonna to be a bit of trip what with the snow and ice on the roads now. And I can quiz him about what really happened to his brother. "  
  
"What? What do you take me for? I'm not going to frightened him off. But let's face it, that body they pulled out of the quarry lake, was confirmed to the boy's by the mother, right? And then he re-appeared alive at Hawkins General Hospital a few days later. But get this, he was in a really bad way, according to the nurses I spoke to who attended him. I did a bit of digging, he was malnourished despite signs that he had a feeding tube in his mouth and oesophagus. Too, they found these weird white flakes of unknown origin in his nasopharyngeals. After that he was a regular at Hawkins Lab before it closed all of a sudden. What's with that, eh? Hawkins Lab's not exactly a known pediatrics facility?"  
  
"Damage control?! He was poisoned like the Holland girl? I dunno. Doris and I know the Hollands well, but their daughter, Barbara, may  she rest in peace, struck me as a rather sensible and unadventurous girl, hardly the type to investigate dodgy effluent."  
  
"I knew you bring up Murray! No, he was overjoyed that the Hawkins Lab closed. But when I spoke with him last, I did think he was holding something back, that he knows something about the Lab. What?"  
  
"My point is a lot of weird things happened last year which the Government blamed on this Russian teenage spy, who caused chaos left, right and centre in Hawkins. For chrissakes! This is little town America....I'll lay bets the truth is lot closer to home. This Byers' kid is linked somehow. I dunno how...."  
  
"What? He did what? This Jonathan Byers punched Callahan? I can't blame him. Callahan is one annoying guy. Really? Hopper didn't charge him. Wow! Yeah, I heard those rumours, too. Our police chief really puts it around with the single ladies. Jealous that you haven't caught his eye, eh ? Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I won't talk to this Byers kid about his little brother, in case he slugs me."  
  
"Oh come, on! Fine, I promise I won't try to find about if his brother was abducted by aliens and anally probed!"  
  
"That all?"  
  
"Sure, I tell Doris, you said hi......Valery???"  
  
"Valery? Hello, you there? "  
  
Ben tapped the switch arms of his navy-blue telephone a few times.  
  
“Buzz, buzz”. The front bell reverberated throughout the house.  
  
“I get that, dear! ” His wife called from downstairs.  
   
“Thanks, Doris!”  
  
Benjamin repeatedly took the handset off and onto the telephone hook. He frowned at the continued absence of the dial tone. He heard his wife walk through the ground floor of the house to the front door and then a little later the sounds of indistinct conversation. Doris seemed to be talking to a young woman from the pitch of the other voice. The lights in his room, began to flicker rapidly. His computer clicked, he smelt smoke as the monitor went dark. There were little pops as the light bulbs broke and his study fell into the gloom of a late winter's day. Then there was a strangled cry, followed by a heavy thud and rapid scrabbling sounds that faded quickly.  
  
“Doris?! What's happening down there?!” called Ben.  
  
Benjamin dropped the telephone handset. He hunted for a torch he kept in the bottom drawer of his desk. He made his way down the stairs. The beam of his flash light bobbing wildly amongst the family photographs on the walls and banisters of the stairs. He paused midway on the stairs to catch his breath, wheezing noisily.  
  
Winter was coming through the open front door. Ben shivered as the cold cut through his indoor clothes. His wife had fallen back into the hallway.  She was still. Too still to his mind. Her arms and legs crooked. Underneath the side of her face there was a small pool of vomit. Bloody froth trickled from her mouth. He hurried over and carefully knelt by his wife's side, clasping her hand and touching her neck for a pulse.  
  
“Doris?!  .....What happened?”  
  
“Elderly Caucasian woman. Atypical blood vessels in brain. Susceptible to rupture. Brain aneurysm.”  
     
Benjamin looked at the speaker. He was mildly surprised based on her slight Southern accent to see that it was a young Asian girl. Possibly nine, ten years old to his eye, with ribbon-tied black hair, a smudge of dirt on one cheekbone. She was wearing an over-sized sienna coloured cardigan with a large school insignia, the words 'nil nisi malis terrori', inscribed in black on a shield of half orange and brown. Under the cardigan she wore a brown skirt and the tail end of a orange belt hung off the side. She was not looking at him but seemed fascinated by the Audubon print of a preening blue heron hanging on the hallway wall.  
  
The younger girl was holding hands with an older teenager. She looked back at him with piercing green eyes. Her long blonde hair tied back. She was wearing the skirt of the same colour as her younger companion but cut well over the knee. Despite the cold, she was wearing a white cotton shirt, with orange ribbon at the neck . Her white socks were pulled up high on her slender legs. Ben couldn't but help stare at the blonde girl, his eyes taking in her nubile curves and he felt himself flush as he realised the crotch of his pants had tented like that of a randy teenage boy.  
  
He noted both had nose bleeds from one nostril, their blood trickling over their upper lips. Looking beyond the girls, he noticed their footprints in the snow lead to a white van with 'Hawkins Power and Light' emblazoned in blue along its side, parked close to his property.  
  
“Hush, Ten,” said the blonde girl, in precise East Coast intonations reminding Ben of Hollywood actresses of the 1940s. She looked at Benjamin and asked.” Sir, would you confirm that you are Mister Benjamin Buck?”  
  
“What? Yes? I'm Mister Buck," replied Ben distractedly, " How do you know Doris had an aneurysm? I'll need to take her to Hawkins General! “  
  
“Elderly Caucasian man. Very high BMI. High cholesterol levels. High blood pressure. Furred arteries. High blood sugar. ” said Ten in a sing-song voice, "Stroke risk."  
  
“Pardon?“ said Ben.  
  
The blonde girl stated firmly, ” Sir, today is your expiration date. “  
  
"Feel my guidelines. Multiple sites in his neck. Called carotid artery, remember. Break the plaques," said Ten.  
  
"Huh?" Benjamin looked blankly at the girls. The blonde girl's hair undulated as if a breeze had blown into her face, as she looked intently at Ben. He stared at her, wondering how her hair was moving back against the wind blowing through the front door. Then suddenly he felt a sharp twinge on his head and then he swayed as if his legs could not possibly support his well-fed bulk. He fell heavily sideways  as his left knee gave way. His head cracked against wall, a whimper of pain escaped his lips. He tried to halt his slide down the wall with his right hand, trying to hold himself up using the sideboard for support, his desperate fingers dislodging the notepad and pen that Doris kept by the downstairs phone for messages. He slumped to the floor, his hips just missing his wife's head. The pad and pen falling close to his right hand.  
  
He heard Ten's voice instruct," Focus on my edges."  
  
"I'm trying," the older girl muttered.  
  
“Urrghh,” Benjamin mumbled as he felt the left side of his face go numb and his view of the children became blurry, darkening at the edges. He tried to push himself up but his arms had no strength. His hands slipped uselessly against the smooth wooden floor.  
  
“Help,” he slurred at the blonde girl, “ Help me? ”  
  
The blonde girl shook her head in disdain, " Ms Read, said you are a bad man."  
  
Ben looked up at the blonde girl, her admonishment leaving him none the wiser. Amongst his frustration at body's refusal to obey his brain, a fear that the growing fuzziness heralded the final sleep, a moment of clarity, a realisation that his dear wife and himself were victims and witness to actions beyond the ability of normal men. That the various fantastical stories that had been circulating around Hawkins for more than a year, their common denominator being a strange girl and their strange happenings explained away as either wild exaggeration by unreliable witnesses or mere coincidence as multiple probabilities aligned precisely were in fact wrong. Psionics, as a fellow believer in secret projects conducted by governments and corporations, called them was a very real phenomenon. The epiphany was closely followed by the realisation that Murray Bauman too had been deceived by the authorities in thinking that a Russian spy was running loose around Indiana. The evidence was standing before his diminishing sight, two products of American scientific endeavour and Benjamin Buck intuitively guessed that girl of last year had been on the run from the adults who molded these children into remorseless and uncaring killers. A flare of indignation sprung up, these people needed to face the consequences, but instead he closed his eyes and let his precious breath out, he felt incredibly tired, the approaching darkness so warm and inviting.  
  
Nine watched dispassionately as Mister Buck stopped struggling and settled against the sideboard. She wiped the blood from her nose with the back of her hand and turned away. Taking a firm hold of Ten's hand, she turned and the girls walked back to the waiting white van. Their hair and clothes untouched by the falling snow. The side door slid opened, they stepped in and the van drove away slowly into the gathering dusk and swirling snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. 'nil nisi malis terrori' - no terror, except to the bad 
> 
> 2\. Inspiration: Tim Powers, Firestarter (1984)


	15. Will Byers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Byers finds out his experience with the Upside Down has changed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Apologies if tenses are all over the place. Supposed to be written in British English grammar.
> 
> 2\. {Mike Wheeler storyline}
> 
> 3\. Really need to start moving the story along! 
> 
> 4\. Swearing.

_In the day nothing matters_  
_It's the night time that flatters_  
_In the night, no control_  
_Through the wall something's breaking_ ' - Self Control, Laura Branigan

 

**21st Friday December 1984**

**Byers' household, Hawkins, Indiana**

 

Will Byers woke up. He was momentarily annoyed that the comforting embrace of sleep had slipped away from him.

Will kept his eyes closed. The cotton pillowcase felt warm against the side of his cheek. As he shuffled his head along the pillow, his chin touched the wet spot where his drool had pooled and he rolled his face away from the dampness. The frayed edges of his blanket, pulled up over his shoulders against the morning chill, rubbed against his neck. He breathed in deeply through his nostrils. While the air was cool, it had the familiar odour of his bedroom and not of damp, rotting vegetation or worst, not of unwholesomeness. Was he really in his bedroom Will wondered. Then he heard a distant slap, and a little later he caught the smell of frying bacon. He felt his mouth salivate. He slowly opened his eyes and carefully took in his surroundings. Light rimmed the edges of his curtains and the weak illumination showed the discarded clothes and items, seemingly carelessly to anyone but himself; he had dropped his things deliberately and remembered their positions for this precise moment. He avoided looking into the corner of the room where he had dropped an used tissue from the night before. He took another deep breath. He was reasonably confident he was in his own bedroom, in the Byers household in, for wont of a better phrase, his home dimension.

He wriggled his body in the bed. The dressing felt tight to the circular wound in his side. He sat up gingerly, reached for a sweater and took slow, careful movements in dressing to avoid sudden stretches or crunches of his trunk. He walked over to the bedroom window, pulled the curtains open and looked out at the backyard of Byers household in winter. The snow covered the grass and sat along the bare branches of the boundary trees. The edges of tarpaulin, covering the holes in the tool shed, flapped noisily in the wind. The covered holes, damage caused by the marauding demo-dogs several weeks before , a constant reminder that his experiences with Mind-Flayer and the Upside-Down were not a figment of his or his friends’ imagination. Flurries of loose snow whipped across the top of the fresh snow that had fallen the night before. Will suddenly wondered if there were seasons in the Upside-Down.

Looking at his backyard, Will was certain if he was actually in the Upside-Down he wouldn’t be having these self-reflective thoughts about the meteorological phenomena of the Upside-Down. Instead, he knew he would be deathly afraid, heart pounding against his chest, plastered with sweat, running scared of the multi-limbed bogeyman of nightmares. Will shook his head and cut short his dismal thoughts before he scared himself shitless, figuratively and literally.

He decided based on the available data that a reasonable conclusion would be that something else had happened last night.

He walked over to the corner of his bedroom and nudged the tissue apart with a scrunched big toe. Brown splotches on the crinkled paper. Dried blood. Blood from his nose. In the light of the new day, the clotted blood didn’t seem so terrifying. Will knew from his friends what a bloody nose signified during the stranger things as they liked to call the extraordinary feats that Eleven had performed. But he had never imagined he would be the one with the bleeding nose while witnessing a stranger thing.

His throat still felt raw from the previous night. He had made himself sick to check the contents of his stomach, to check nothing black and wriggly was squirming around inside of him. Despite flushing his mouth, Will felt he could still taste the legacy of vomit, reminding him that the supper he should have been digesting was floating around somewhere in the Hawkins’ sewers.

Will had to know for sure. He had to know that he was the originator of what he witnessed last night. That he was the controller and not the controlled. That he was master of whatever this was. Will looked at the wrecked tool shed. He squinted at the shed, making it the focus of his concentration. He told himself that he knew without doubt a shadow of that tool shed existed in another reality. Just another natural physical phenomena that humans took for granted like light, sound, time, gravity, centrifugal force or mass. As if his recollection of physical forces as a litany were the answer to the koan of parallel realities, in the blink of his eye, in one instant the Byers tool shed stood amongst fresh-fallen snow and blue winter sky, and in the next it stood in the familiar blue-green half light of the Upside Down. The backyard looked in worst state, the ground churned up with twisted metal and broken concrete strewn around, twisted black vines running over everything in the backyard and around every object. The familiar large snowflake-like particles wafting around in horrible parody of the real falling snow. He noticed that there wasn't real snow on the ground. He felt a wetness above his lip. Will took a deep breath, blinked hard and willed the Upside Down version of the backyard to go away. The scene wavered as if it had been painted on canvas like a fake background of a movie set and then it faded away. The Byers tool shed stood in the white snow of the backyard.

Will let out a sigh of relief. He suddenly felt light-headed. His legs shook. The expellation of his breath seemed to exhaust the last of his energy. He put his hands against the windowsill to stop himself from falling over. He felt the uncharacteristic craving for food. His stomach rumbled loudly. Then Will remembered Dustin had handled him a box of expired candies because Dustin's own backpack was already full to bursting with free food he had acquired from the school kitchens. He staggered towards his backpack on the other side of the room, flopped onto a chair and pulled out a crumpled box and looked inside. Half a dozen Caramellos.

"Sorry, Dustin" murmured Will, as he ripped apart the purple and yellow wrapping and bite down hungrily on the slightly hard chocolate. He had finished the first bar and had started on the second bar, when the bedroom door handle began to turn.

“Will? You up? It's time for school!” He heard his mother call through slightly opened door.

"Urrgh!" managed Will, his mouth full and sticky with chocolate and caramel. Instantly, he knew it was a mistake to answer incoherently. His mother's curiosity would be aroused and she would walk in. Will grabbed the used tissue and swiped hurriedly at his bleeding nose and hid the tissue in his fist just as his mother pushed open the door and walked into his bedroom.

Joyce Byers found her youngest son, sitting on chair with a half-eaten Carmello bar in one hand and a discarded candy wrapper by his bare feet.

"William Douglas Byers!" scolded his mother, quickly recovering from her surprise, " What are you doing?! Eating candy before breakfast!"

Will looked up at his mother's fierce face. He felt his ears burn and he was sure his face had turned scarlet. He rarely broke the rules his mother set. But in this moment, he felt a strange mixture of feelings. The obvious;  shame at being caught breaking her rules. Relief that evidence of his nosebleed had been wiped away. And most of all, reassurance that he still outwardly looked like a human being, despite recent incontrovertible evidence that he maybe we was no longer stock Homo Sapien.

"I woke up starving...," said Will in a small voice.

His mother looked at the candy in her son's hand and the half-full box at her son's feet. She realised Carmellos wasn't even a brand of candy that Will liked or asked for when they went food shopping together. He had offered a reasonable explanation of his actions. But Joyce couldn't help feeling that she was missing the obvious. There was a touch of strangeness about this whole situation. She knelt, picked up a wrapper and smoothed it down, noting the expiry date.

"Dustin got hold of these candies and asked you to keep them for safekeeping," guessed Joyce.

"Yeah, but I wasn't supposed to eat them!"

Joyce looked at her son and frowned at this appearance. The bloodshot sclera and dark circles under his eyes. How frail and thin he looked, extenuated by his sickly, to her mind, pallor. Being hungry for food was surely a good thing, it must mean he was getting better she thought.

"How's the side?"

Will gingerly raised the arm on his injured side, so that his mother could lift up the sweater and tee shirt, to take a look at the bandage. It was unmarked; the wound hadn't bleed through.

"Did you get much sleep last night?"

"A bit."

Joyce stood up.

"I let you off this time," said Joyce sternly.

"Yes, mom."

"Wash up and get ready for breakfast," said Joyce," I add another waffle to your plate. "

"Yes, Mom! Thanks, Mom! "

Will watched his Mom leave his room. He let out a sigh of relief. That was too close he thought. He could tell by his mother’s expressions that his mother suspected something, and in her position he would too, partly because the experiences with the Mind Flayer was really only several weeks past and the fact that the damn poker wound had broken open again and any eye, looked like a fresh wound all over again.

Will looked at the tissue in his hand. There was fresh blood on it. He realised that he was uncertain about how he should be feeling. He had really hoped with the expulsion of the Mind Flayer from inside him that he could live a life that didn’t involve the Upside Down. He wasn't sure if being able to see into the Upside Down was a gift or not. He wished he could have looked onto a cool dimension, like Asgard or Krypton or one of those crazy worlds Mike Wheeler imagined in their Dungeons and Dragons games.

Also, twice now when intense searing pain in his side had woken him up, where he swore he could smell his burnt flesh again, followed by a flurry of images, like an imperfect fast-forward video without the squeal of rapid spooling. When it had happened the first time, the night after Barbara Holland’s funeral, he had already suspected the Upside Down was not done with him. He could tell by his mother’s furtive glances and mannerisms that she had similar suspicions about the rebleeding of his wound. He had not told anyone else but the images he saw were like looking onto some else’s life. When the wound had reopened again earlier in the week, the set of images had been disturbing. He had witnessed the death of girl who looked similar to Eleven with blonde hair in Hawkins Library.

Will touched underneath his nose again. Eleven. He hadn’t really spoken to her much. At the Snowball, Mike and her were inseparable and while she had shared reminiscences with Dustin and Lucas , Will found himself quickly at loss for words when they spent a brief moment together, when Mike went to the bathroom. She had been this mythic figure who had twice now helped him without actually knowing very much about him at all. But now Will felt Eleven would be the one person who would understand what was happening to him.

\----

"Morning, buddy!" Jonathan greeted Will, as he walked into the kitchen. His elder brother was wiping up the remnants of his breakfast with a piece of bread. Will noticed his brother canvas satchel, the one where he kept his Pentax SLR and various prime lenses, underneath his neatly folded outdoors jacket.

"You got a shoot after school, Jonathan?" asked Will, sitting down at the kitchen table. His mother put down a plate of food in front of him. Two Eggos with a healthy dollop of syrup on top and two crispy bacon rashers . Looking at the yellowy, factory-processed concoction of potato and eggs, Will felt like the plate of food in front of him was the most appetitising he had ever seen and smelt. Even better than a cheeseburger and fries, his former number one choice of food. He picked up his cutlery and began eating hurriedly. Joyce raised an eyebrow at Will's uncharacteristic dining table behaviour, usually her youngest son was quite slow in eating his food. Jonathan too had noticed Will's wolfing down his breakfast. He smiled uncertainly at his mother when she looked at him.

"Mrs Singleton, the editor at the Hawkins Post offered me this gig to provide pictures for an interview with this young preacher of the Gray Army. Mister Buck is expecting me to arrive at his place well before nine. We got a bit of drive to Ealing.”

"Principal Hewitt approved this, right?" Joyce asked.

"Yes, mom," said Jonathan, " I wouldn’t have accepted the work without asking for his permission first. I got to make tracks! “

"Hold up, Jonathan. I have news regarding Christmas, " announced Joyce, " Hopper and you know who will coming over for Christmas dinner next week!"

"Wow! That's great news! You convinced him!" said Will, stopping eating for a moment.

"Of course, the result was never in doubt, dear" replied his mother.

"Maybe Christmas be more interesting this year," said Jonathan laconically.

"Jonathan!"

"I'm joking! I'm joking, " said Jonathan, "But I really do need to go!"

After Joyce had hugged Jonathan, she looked down at Will’s empty plate and noticed how he was eyeing her untouched breakfast.

“You want my Eggos?”

“You sure? “

"Cigarettes and coffee, is all I need, " said Joyce smiling. She tapped out a cigarette from her Marlboros, lit up and watched Will speedily consume his second plate of food.

"You really are hungry, eh?"

"Hmm, yeah," said Will, "It be okay for the party to come over on Christmas, right? Maybe we could open presents together before dinner...."

"I'm sure the boys' families have their own plans for Christmas Day. But they are always welcome to come over after dinner,” said Joyce slowly , aware of the pecuniary penalty to her parlous finances of so many hungry mouths eating Christmas dinner at her house.

"Mike will definitely want to be here when .... um, Hopper's here. And Dustin is not far from here.”

Joyce smiled at Will's enthusiasm. It was good to see him happy and carefree like a kid should be.

 

\----

**21st Friday December 1984**

**Road to Hawkins Middle School, Hawkins, Indiana**

 

Will watched the wintry world outside his mother's car blur by as she drove him to school. His mother had agreed to play his brother Jonathan's mixtape in the car's cassette player. At that moment he was listening to 'Gary Gilmore Eyes' and thankful that his mother was concentrating on keeping her car on the road. The majority of the snow was piled on either side of the road but patches of black ice meant drivers had to be cautious. He felt a little illicit thrill that he was listening to a rather grim song about a man looking through the eyes of a really-executed killer whilst his mother's attention was elsewhere. It was almost perfect, he loved listening to music while a passenger in a car, except that the heating in the Ford Pinto wasn't generating much in the way of warmth, so he was a little chilly and his visible breath clouded over the passenger side window which he periodically wiped with the sleeve of his windcheater.

With the song coming to its angry conclusion, he noticed a lone bicyclist in the middle of the road, up ahead. He recognised the backpack and mop of dark hair of the kid on the bike. It was Mike.

As his mother's car drew closer, Will noticed Mike's bike was wobbling side to side. The road they were on was relatively level but Mike was standing up on the bike’s pedals and seemed to be struggling to complete revolutions. Every so often he would throw his head back. Will wondered if Mike's bike was broken and stuck in low gear. If that was the case, why not get off and walk and wheel the bike thought Will.

"Hmm, Mike is really straining,“ observed Joyce, “Is this road steep for bicycles?

"Um," replied Will.

His mother slowed her car, as they approached Mike struggling on his bike. To Will’s eyes it seemed that Mike's backpack was rather flat and crushed against his back, as if something was pressed against it and the back wheel seemed compressed, as if there was a heavy weight on the back wheel.

Will paused the cassette player and began to crank down his passenger side window as his mother's car drew close. He paused at the unusual sound coming from Mike Wheeler.

Mike was laughing. His laughter full, uninhibited and unrestrained. The sort of laughter that was infectious, Will smiled in spite of the weirdness of the situation.

"That's not fair! You can't do that!" Will heard his friend cry out in between shrieks of laughter. Will's grin disappeared. Something was was up. He risked a quick glance at his mother. Joyce too had a quizzical look on her face at Mike's strange behaviour.

The rumble of the car's engine caught Mike's attention and he looked back. He stopped laughing immediately, and the familiar frown settled momentarily on his face but then he recognised the car and its occupants. To Will's surprise, when Mike looked at him directly, he flushed bright red and looked guilty, as if he had caught doing something that he hadn't wanted other people to see. The bike suddenly stopped wobbling as if a great weight had been released. Will thought he saw Mike's backpack decompress and the back wheel lift, before an instant later, Mike's bicycle catapulted past the front of Joyce's car and then straight off the road, hitting a pile of packed snow on the side of the road. Mike tumbled off sideways onto the piled snow.

"On my God! " cried his mother, braking a bit too harshly so that her car skidded slightly as it stopped beyond Mike.

Mike had already gotten up and was brushing the snow off one side of his body by the time Will and Joyce hurried over.

"Mike!" greeted Will. Mike smiled tightly in return. Again Will had the inescapable impression that his mother and himself had caught Mike doing something that he wanted kept secret.

"Mike are you okay?" asked Joyce, grasping the boy by his shoulder.

Mike avoided looking at Mrs. Byers but grunted, "I'm fine, I'm fine, Mrs. Byers. I was just surprised to see you that's all."

"Is there something wrong with your bike?"

"What?"

"You were standing on your pedals like you were cycling up a hill?"

"No ....um, it's the freezing weather, ma'am. The chain is acting up, I need to grease it properly. I haven't been looking my bike properly. It's okay, " said Mike quickly. Will keep his face neutral as he watched his friend tell a barefaced lie to his mother. He looked around the roadside, the bare-branches of the trees on either side, snow piled on either side. The hairs on the back of his neck pricked, he felt like he was being watched, like someone else was there. This whole situation was bizarre. Aside from Mike’s weird antics on the pushbike, there was there was the question of why Mike was taking a massive detour on the way to school.

"I can give you a lift to school," offered Joyce, "Least I can do after nearly driving you off the road."

"No! Sorry, I mean no, I'm okay really ! A bit of snow never hurt anybody. I'm really okay, Mrs Byers, " said Mike, " You, two go ahead. I see you in double maths, Will."

"Mom, I like to walk with Mike for the rest of the way to school, " said Will loudly, his face turned towards his mother but his attention directed towards Mike.

Out of the corner of his eye, Will noticed a flash of irritation cross his friend's face, a look that he had noticed from the beginning of the week. Either at school or in the basement of the Wheeler household, Mike would suddenly become distracted and then agitated and tetchy before if he would mumble something about being back shortly and then quickly walk off to be alone. When questioned later by Dustin or Lucas, Mike would give his characteristic scowl, enough to shut them up but his secretiveness and now his strange cycling behaviour made Will suspect Mike was hiding something. And not something filthy as suggested by Dustin.

"Er...., " Mike began and then stopped.

His mother frowned worriedly at Will for a fraction of a second before she smiled brightly as a thought crossed her mind, " Of course! Great idea! The exercise do you good, Will! "

 

Will waved as his mother drove away in the opposite direction to school. Mike had already picked up his bike and was wheeling away.

Will ran up to catch up with Mike. His friend was in moody mode again as Justin coined Mike's frequent bouts of sullenness. They walked in silence for a while. Again, Will felt like that weren't alone on the road. It wasn't like he was being watched he thought, it was more like someone was walking alongside, on the other side of Mike. Will glanced at the snow next to his friend just to check he wasn’t imagining a ghostly companion. But he couldn’t help shake the idea that he shouldn’t believe his eyes, or at least the vision offered by his normal eyes. He pondered briefly if he should shift to ‘true sight’ in front of Mike, the irony not lost on him that he too was hiding a secret from his friend.

He saw a crumpled xerox frozen into the snow bank. It was poster about missing dog. A picture of daschund and the owner’s name and phone number underneath.

“Another missing dog! A lot of cats and dogs disappearing this past week. Must be dozen missing posters now, “ said Will.

Mike shrugged and said, ” Guess so.”

“Bet you it’s pet kidnapping to order.”

Will looked askance at Mike when he did not reply. He seemed to be paying attention to his left side. If he didn’t know better as if there was someone there which made no sense as such an individual would be walking on the road.

Will opted for the simplest route or as his friend Watts liked to say ‘you got to seize the bull by the horns’ and said, “Mike?!”

Mike answered curtly,” What?”

"Is something up? You've been acting strange ever since the Snowball?" said Will quickly before his courage failed.

Mike grimaced, looked guilty again and mumbled, " I got a lot on my mind. Home is not great at the moment. My parents have been arguing again. And you know who...."

Will gave Mike a friendly punch to his arm and said, " My mother has convinced Hopper to come over to our place for Christmas dinner."

To Will’s surprise, Mike merely nodded and almost like an afterthought added, "That's great news, Will."

Will's furrowed his brow. The disinterest from Mike was not what he expected at all. He grabbed his friend's arm and said earnestly," You know what this means, right? You get to share part of Christmas Day with umm, ... Jane."

Mike nodded, " Yes, I know."

Will considered Mike's lack of enthusiasm and said, " You know, you almost sound like you already know Hopper and Jane are coming over."

He noticed Mike's quick glance to the empty space next to him before he looked back at Will.

"No, no! It's great news. I'm really very happy that Hopper has agreed to come over. And you know who too. Like I said, I got a lot on my mind at the moment! Sorry!” Mike said rapidly.

Will knew his friend was hiding something. He had a sort of plan to discuss with Mike his fears about the Mind Flayer and poker wound before revealing his new found power. But Mike’s behaviour was infinitely more intriguing. He came to a sudden decision. The redire ad gratiam strategem should work Will thought. He looked up and down the road. It was empty aside from themselves. He stopped walking, forcing Mike to stop too.

"What's up?" said Mike, the familiar annoyed look creeping back into his face.

"Mike, something has happened to me and I want you to know first," said Will loudly.

"The wound's bled again....." began Mike and stopped as Will, raising a hand to shush Mike, dipped his chin to stare intently a little off the right shoulder of his friend.

Will concentrated on the empty space next to Mike. The space next to Mike's push bike that he felt was actually occupied by something or someone. Earlier this morning, he had been passive, looking through as if it were a dimensional window, that he was just an onlooker into the otherworld. Now, he was searching for something to validate his instinct that Mike and himself were not alone on the road to school, that they were sharing space with another something. He felt as if he had pulled his head underwater. The air felt like liquid, on his skin, filling his nostrils and his ear holes. He saw Mike's eyes widen but the words from his open mouth were indistinct, like he too was underwater. The space next to Mike remained resolutely empty. A frisson of fear began to creep up his spine as the rational part of his mind began to question whether what he was doing was sane because he felt he was beginning to asphyxiate. Like a huge lead ball was slowly pressing down against his chest and throat. His breath began to came out in short rapid gasps.

One moment there was Mike staring at him, bicycle by his side. The next everything disappeared. Black inky nothingness with no discernible horizon. No road. No trees. No snow. No Mike. Instead, standing to the right of where Mike would be was Eleven. She was wearing dungarees and a white sweater. Dressed as if she was indoors and not outside. She was even barefoot. Will saw Eleven’s surprised face as she realised Will could see her. At that moment, before Eleven could say anything to Will, the nothingness shuttered away to the Upside Down version of the Hawkins road. Twisted black vines criss-crossed the road and up and around the roadside trees. The sky heavy and oppressive. The constant swirling white flakes. Will saw Eleven superimposed onto the scene like an image on negative film. And then she faded but Will felt her presence, the sensation similar to that when he was trapped in the Upside Down and could sense his mother in the immediate vicinity.

These things Will noted quickly, almost in passing, as his attention was fully occupied by a horror he thought he would never see again. The huge black spidery legs leading up to the familiar eyeless, massive wedge of a face that hung close over his friends' heads. The Mind Flayer. In his mind’s eye, Mike and Eleven looked much like insignificant bugs against the sheer size of the monster. Will could feel its antipathy and hatred towards the teenagers, in particular Eleven. It was almost like a physical wave, when the swell rushed towards and then washed over him, Will glimpsed in his mind's eye a fleeting snapshot of images, intentions and feelings from the monster. He realised through his experience with Dungeons and Dragons, that he had just experienced a psychic phenomena. He shuddered as if the receding psychic wave from the Mind Flayer could yank him through the dimensional window, like a rip current. Then, as if Will had left a scent on the psychic waves that returned to the monster, the boy realised that the Mind Flayer was now looking beyond Mike and Eleven and at him directly. Feeling the alien gaze upon his him, the attendant horrible memories came rushing back so that Will shrieked and jumped back in sheer terror.

He hit something against the back of his calves. He lost his balance, toppling backwards and landed awkwardly, jarring his injured side. He cried out. Sharp pain flaring outwards from the bandaged wound indicated likely he had reopened the wound and it was probably bleeding profusely. He felt snow melt against his bare skin, his ungloved hands and his cheek against the ground.

"Will! Will! " Mike's voice was loud in his ears. Almost unbearably loud after the temporary loss of hearing he incurred during his dimensional peeking into the Upside Down and whereever Eleven was.

Will opened his eyes. Everything seemed watery and red-tinged. He looked at Mike's face. Next to him, Will felt the presence of Eleven and imagined she was looking down at him too.

"You're bleeding from the nose like El! " Mike's words tumbled out of him, " Are you like El! ? My God! Your eyes are red, you ... you're bleeding from your eyes, Will!"

Will touched the corner of his eye with his hand, though the movement brought fresh pain to his side. The fingers came away with fresh blood. This is new he thought dispassionately. Despite what he had seen and Mike's agitation, Will felt calm and almost safe. The Mind Flayer was effectively far, far away and could not hurt him nor his friends.

"Mike, I have true sight. It's a part of who am now, " he said, surprised at his own calmness.

Will turned towards where he thought Eleven would be standing and said, "The Mind Flayer. Every move you make. Every step you take. He's watching you. He wants you."

"How's that possible?!" demanded Mike, " It's stuck in the Upside Down."

"I saw his thoughts, " Will said, shaking in his head, " Don't ask me how. I saw Doctor Brenner in them. He's alive and he's involved with the Mind Flayer somehow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The Hawkins Post ( editor ) Valery Singleton


	16. Lucas Sinclair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas Sinclair discovers the Hargroves are experimentalists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes
> 
> 1\. Apologies if tenses are all over the place. Supposed to be written in British English grammar.
> 
> 2\. { Neil Hargrove storyline } The Neil Hargrove ( Chap 2 ) / Lucas Sinclair ( Chap 7 & Chap 13 ) storyline.
> 
> 3\. Spoiler warning. In this fanfic, Hargroves are unpleasant people. 
> 
> 4\. Adult themes. Swear words. Implied violence against animals.
> 
> 5\. Apologies for overuse of 'looked' and 'turned around'

_'What I really need to do_  
_Is find myself a brand new lover_  
_Somebody with eyes for me_  
_Who doesn't notice all the others'_ \- Dead or Alive, Brand New Lover  
  
  
**21st Friday December 1984**  
  
**Hawkins Middle School , Hawkins, Indiana**  
  
  
Lucas balancing on the pedals of his bicycle, gingerly moved off from a stationary position. He shifted gears and heard it crunch loudly as he did so. He winced at the noise. The gears had started slipping of late. Lucas had the feeling that the chain and rear cog needed to be replaced. He had hoped he could nurse his bike till the Christmas vacation when he could ask his father for help. He knew if his father discovered the worn cogs, the odds were good that he pay for the parts and possibly do the changeover on the bike as well if he had time. It was part of Lucas' cunning plan since his funds were essentially flatlined after the 'Erica CB radio' fiasco. But this morning, he had a particularly hairy moment when the gear slipped after he applied extra pressure to exit an intersection with motor cars coming up behind him and it felt like he was starting up a sharp incline rather than  cycling on a level plane.  He looked up to the skies, and whispered a silent prayer for the bike to hold together for at least a few more days.  
  
He stopped cycling immediately and got off to wheel his bike towards the middle school's bicycle racks.  
  
"Sinclair!" A female voice called behind him. Lucas raised an eyebrow, that's the first time she's called me by my surname he thought before turning around. He watched Max come up the concrete walkway on her skateboard. From the way she pushed off the ground to speed the board along and the serious expression on her face, she seemed to be in a hurry to reach him. Obviously she wanted spend as much time with him as possible, he grinned to himself, he couldn't help it if  he was so irresistible, so good-looking and charming. As Max stopped near him, gracefully swivelling her hips so that the board swung ninety degrees, her flame-colored hair swung out and Lucas thought how pretty his girlfriend looked that winter's morning.  
  
Max flipped the skateboard to her hand and stalked up to Lucas, her brow knitted and mouth fixed in a snarl. In that split second, Lucas knew he had erred in some way and his toothy grin began to fade.  
  
Max jabbed Lucas in the chest. Hard.  
  
"Hey, that hurt!" Lucas cried, taking a step back and rubbing the spot where Max had hit him.  
  
"When were you going to tell me, Mister?!" demanded Max.  
  
Wow, she's really pretty when she's angry, a part of Lucas' mind mused.  
  
"Huh?" Lucas' blank face infuriated Max so she jabbed him again. Harder.  
  
"Hey! Stop that!" complained Lucas.  
  
"Your mother came up to my mother at the church social, yesterday afternoon! You know what your mother did?! She invited our family for Christmas dinner!"  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Is that all you can say? When did you know?"  
  
"Um, it was ....she ....we...." Lucas stumbled, as it suddenly occurred to him that the less Max knew about the circumstances leading up to her family's invitation to the Sinclair household for Christmas the better.  
  
"Was this your idea?"  
  
"What?! No, no! It was my mom's idea! She thought because your family are new in Hawkins, it would be nice to invite your family over! We have another guest too from Microdyne. "  
  
Max said, " But you knew about this and didn't tell me!"  
  
"Mom came up with the idea on Tuesday evening! Honest! I was going to tell you yesterday! But yesterday was mad, right? What with Keith and his delusion over Nancy...."  
  
"Yeah, but why didn't you say anything at school then?"  
  
"Um,...er....a couple of things," he hedged. Max's icy glare made him stop. Lucas said in a small voice, "Billy."  
  
Max continued looking at Lucas, prolonging his agony before she chuckled, "Don't worry about Billy. He won't do anything crazy to you at Christmas. It's afterwards you should worry about."  
  
  
"Hah! Hah! You're very funny," said Lucas feeling very relieved, almost like how he felt after doing well on a surprise pop quiz.  
  
"Only noticed now, have you?"  
  
"You have many attractive qualities....," smiled Lucas.  
  
"You can tell me about my many fine qualities, later, " said Max, "But, talking about last night, have you told Nancy Wheeler about your 'stoopid' deal with Keith?"  
  
"Um....I tried to go over last night but the Wheelers had relatives over, " said Lucas quickly, glad the topic of Christmas dinner had moved on, "Mike's radio was turned off, so I couldn't speak with him last night either. And this morning, it was still turned off and his Mom told me he had left for school early. So I left earlier than usual too, you know, to talk. But strange thing is, Mike isn't at school, I don't know where he is."  
  
"Huh, if it's possible, he's been even more grumpy since the Snowball," observed Max.  
  
"Yeah, he has, hasn't he? I guess he really misses, El.....um, I mean,  Jane."  
  
"Whatever," Max shrugged.  
  
"Hey, Lucas! Max!" Dustin's excited voice reached them. He rode up on his bike. The front wheel skidded as Dustin braked harshly on a patch of black ice. He quickly put his feet to the ground as the bike went off-balance.  
  
"Woahh! That was close, eh?!" said Dustin. He let his bike crash to the ground, as he unslung his backpack. It swung heavily from Dustin's right hand when he unzipped it with his left.  
  
"Don't tell me, you scrounged more food from the school kitchen?" said Max.  
  
"Hey! You're mocking me! Everybody needs to eat, even a skinny beanpole like you .... hey, I'm joking, alright?!" Dustin took a step after being slapped down with Max's glare.  
  
"No! I got something better, take a look! See !" Dustin slowly pulled apart his backpack, revealing its contents akin to a magician on television. Both Max and Lucas peered in to see an assortment of firecrackers jumbled inside their friend's bag. Dustin closed the bag with a flourish.  
  
Lucas looked around worriedly at their fellow pupils in the school yard of Hawkins Middle School. Nobody was looking their way. Nevertheless he spoke quietly, "How did you get that?!"  
  
"Hey, I got to protect my sources," said Dustin, "They're a bit old, mind, but they should still work. I borrowed a lighter from my mother, so we're good go this afternoon. Three cheers for half-days, eh?!"  
  
"Where are you thinking of going?" asked Max.  
  
"You can't be serious?" said Lucas turning to Max.  
  
"Hey, it'll be fun. Start Christmas vacation with a bang!" grinned Max.  
  
"You're girl after my own heart," declared Dustin, " Come on, Lucas, don't be an old man."  
  
Lucas scowled at Dustin's jibe, "What about Keith and the mall?"  
  
"Eh? You haven't talked to Nancy and Mike?"  
  
"No! The Wheelers had their relatives over last night. I didn’t have a chance to speak with Nancy or Mike."  
  
"Well, no problem. Make up with Mike this morning. And then we go find Nancy, during their lunch break. Easy-peasy."  
  
"Yes, but what about Keith?" repeated Lucas.  
  
"What about Keith?" said Dustin blandly.  
  
"You were there with me! Don't you remember? If Nancy doesn't show up today at the Starcourt Mall, he's either going to beat us up when he next sees us or he threaten to tell the manager of the Palace that we've been cheating the arcade of money."  
  
"Keith is full of hot air. He touches us, he get in trouble. And, unfortunately the arcade makers are not dumb. They know how to protect their machines. All that talk about free games is just .... I dunno, hogwash?! "  
  
"You're sure about that? You didn't seem so sure last night."  
  
"Use your head! Even if Keith shows the owner whatever he has, how can he say that it was us that used it? He would have had to catch us in the act, sort of like, um ...., shoplifting, and then because money is involved he should really be calling the police. And as you know that isn't a problem for us." Dustin winked exaggeratedly after the last statement.  
  
Lucas frowned.  
  
"Look, I was thinking of going, maybe, to the quarry," continued Dustin, "Try out a few you-know. We won't be there all afternoon. If you really want to, afterwards, we can go over to Starcourt and explain to Keith using simple words for his level of comprehension that it will be never meant to be, between Nancy and him. He's got to grow up about Nancy. You can't always have want you want in life and all that. There be lots of people around so he won't beat us up at mall. And we stay away from the arcade for a while. "  
  
"So you intend to call his bluff about him going to the manager saying we've been caught cheating the arcade using some kind of home-made device?"  
  
"Lucas, you're sound like a stuck record!" said Dustin," The owner ain't stupid! He'll know it's way beyond the means of middle-schoolers, and that's assuming it's even possible."  
  
"Hey, guys, there's Mike and Will, " said Max. She paused and said, " Looks like Will has done something to his ....omigosh, look at his eyes?!!"  
  
Dustin and Lucas turned around to see their friends walking through the school yard to them. Will's bloodshot eyes had caught the attention of the other kids in the school yard as they walked past them. Some stared openly at him. Others looked away to comment in whispers about his new appearance. As they drew closer, Lucas saw that the whites of Will's eyes were completely red, more than bloodshot, in fact his friend's eyes looked like Christopher Lee's vampire Dracula and he felt himself shiver at the recollection of the Hammer Horror film. Mike looked the same as ever, permanent frown fixed on his face as he glared fiercely at the few kids who had the temerity to comment on Will's appearance to his face. But Lucas noticed something was different about Will. He seemed to have lost his timidity, he was walking with his head held high, seemingly uncaring about the barbs flung his way, a confidence that he had not seen from his friend before.  
  
"Shit! Byers, you look like .... something out of the Twilight Zone!" exclaimed Dustin when the pair reached the trio.  
  
"That's kinda cool look, Will," said Max. Will flushed at the girl's words and looked shyly away.  
  
Lucas looked askance at Max, before asking, "What happened to you, Will?!!"  
  
"Umm....I'm ...."  
  
"I have something to tell you guys ...," said Mike quickly.  
  
"Actually! I need to say something first," interrupted Lucas.  
  
"Mine is more ...," began Mike and then reconsidered, " Well, maybe Will's...."  
  
Will shrugged nonchalantly. Another first thought Lucas.  
  
"You know what this means guys!" said Dustin, "We need to settle this by three-way roshambo!"  
  
"What's that?" asked Max.  
  
"Rock paper scissors in boring parlance, " said Dustin, "Okay, guys, get ready."  
  
Mike, Will and Lucas arranged themselves to face each other. Standing in such a way that each faced the other two boys. Lucas had Mike to his right and Will to his left. Lucas shook his arms loosely and rocked his head from side to side as if he were a fighter just before a boxing match. Mike stared at a space between Will and Lucas, his nostrils flared, repeatedly clenching and unclenching his hands. Will kept alternating nervous glances at his two friends.  
  
"Hands behind your backs, " ordered Dustin, " On the count of three, show your hands. Ro. Sham. Bo! "  
  
Based on past contests, Lucas knew Mike had a habit of favoring rock, he chose to show paper with his right hand. Will rarely contested, so Lucas opted for scissors with his left hand. He extended his hands towards Mike and Will, as they simultaneously extended their left and right hands. Lucas looked right and left. His paper beat Mike's rock. His scissors beat Will's paper. He looked at their other hands. Will's left hand showed paper which beat Mike's rock. Mike scowled when he realised he had lost both contests.  
  
"And Lucas won both contests! He speaks first. Congratulations, Will, you beat Mike. You speak next and the double loser is Wheeler!"  
  
Lucas felt flat rather than jubilant at winning. He mentally kicked himself, why had he allowed his competitive instincts to rise to the fore. He closed his eyes and when he opened them, saw that Mike and Will were looking at him expectantly. He took a deep breath.  
  
"You remember when we tried to keep secret from Max about um,.....the Hawkins Lab. I felt bad about that. I wanted Max to understand. To tell her about that week. I wanted to tell her the whole story without being interrupted. The only place I could think of was the backroom in the Palace. So I made a deal with Keith so that I could use the room exclusively," said Lucas.  
  
"What kind of deal?" scowled Mike.  
  
"Um,... you know Keith has always had um, .... a thing for your sister...," said Lucas.  
  
"No!"  
  
"I'm really sorry, Mike," said Lucas rapidly," I told Keith I would set up him with Nancy if let me use the back room. I didn't think he would remember, y'know what a numpty he is. But the other night, he threatened to beat up Dustin and me and to tell the owner of the Palace, that the party have been cheating the arcade using a some kinda electro-magnetic gizmo."  
  
His words had no effect as Mike's face contorted with fury as he spat out, "Why did you do that? What's wrong with you?!"  
  
"I was desperate, Mike! I wasn't thinking straight! Please, I'm really, really sorry about what I did!"  
  
"How could you, Lucas!" said Mike, his voice loud enough that the other kids in the school yard, looked over with interest," She's my sister, for crying out loud!"  
  
"I wanted Max to know the truth about why we were so secretive. It worked out in the end, no? She drove us get to the tunnels. She's one of us!"  
  
Mike turned to the redhead girl but before he could say something Will gripped his friend firmly by the shoulder, and forcibly turned him around away from Max. He walked Mike away from his friends; the shock and novelty of being frogmarched by an assertive and resolute Will Byers made a surprised Mike compliant.  
  
"We talk later!" said Will called to his three stunned friends.  
  
"What the fuck happened to Will?" said Dustin, expressing out aloud the thoughts running through both Max and Lucas' minds.  
  
  
  
  
####  
  
**21st Friday December 1984**  
  
**Woods arounds Hawkins, Hawkins, Indiana**  
  
  
  
Lucas, with Max perched on the back of his bike, her skateboard tucked under one arm, rode with Dustin down the road that lead towards the quarry.  
  
"Where do you think Mike and Will could be? Why weren't Nancy or Jonathan at school? " asked Lucas of the others.  
  
Max let out an exasperated sigh. Lucas had been asking variants of the same questions ever since they found no one at home at the Byers and Wheelers households.  
  
  
"They're obviously elsewhere, and we not going back to town to look for them, " said Dustin, "Let's just blow up some firecrackers and then see if can get a lift from my mom to the Starcourt Mall for your date with Keith."  
  
"Oh,...go and .... fall off your bike," retorted Lucas half-heartedly. Dustin and Max laughed at his weak witticism.  
  
The trio turned onto the dirt road that ran to the bottom of the quarry. Dustin had suggested they throw the firecrackers onto the frozen lake to see if they could crack the ice with the explosive force of the gunpowder in the fireworks. The road was covered with snow which was criss-crossed with tyre tracks. Lucas felt Max shift in her seat and said out aloud, "What is Neil's car doing out here?"  
  
Lucas realised he had been concentrating on the road immediately in front of their bikes. He looked up ahead. The wood cabin where they had hid and glimpsed the fake dead Will Byers being pulled out of the lake still brought back uncomfortable memories. Now in winter, the quarry lake had frozen over and despite the snow, he could still see the trash dumped by inconsiderate people along its shoreline. Lucas quickly glanced sideways at Dustin. He could tell by the grim look on his friend's face, they were sharing the same thoughts. By the wood cabin was parked a dark blue, almost black, 1967 Chevrolet Impala.  
  
  
They waited near Max's stepfather's car, while Max walked around it and looked in through the car windows. Lucas wasn't sure why she had to take closer look but he imagined if he saw his father's car parked by the quarry's shoreline during a week day he would have wanted to make sure it was his father's car too. He watched as she approached the woodcabin, craned her neck to look through the frozen windows. She tried to open the wood cabin door. It was locked.  
  
"Your father's car?" Lucas asked needlessly when Max walked back, her brow creased.  
  
"Stepfather," corrected Max. She looked back at the car and said, "This morning he told  my mother he was going over to a firm in Evansville. You know, his engineering overalls are on the front seat with his pants and loafers. Why did he lie to us?"  
  
"Dunno," said Lucas.  
  
"He may be close by," warned Dustin, "We should keep our voices down."  
  
"Why come here?" asked Max.  
  
"Dunno," said Lucas.  
  
Dustin pointed at two sets of footprints in the freshly fallen snow leading away from the mush of crushed snow and frozen mud and towards a trail that lead into the forest by the quarry shoreline. "If that is his, then he's not alone either ?"  
  
"Are they any cabins apart from this one, in the forest?" asked Max.  
  
"Well, there are abandoned shacks from long ago, but nothing modern like this one, " said Dustin.  
  
"Why do you think your stepfather is going to a shack?" asked Lucas.  
  
Max shook head at Lucas. She turned to Dustin, " Any shacks on the track that the footprints seem to  be going towards."  
  
"At the top of the quarry, yeah," said Dustin.  
  
"I don't understand," said Lucas looking at his friends  
  
"He might be with another woman aside from Max's mom," Dustin explained, after Max ignored Lucas to study the quarry.  
  
"Oh, God! I'm sorry, Max, I didn't understand."  
  
"Don't worry about it, Lucas, " shrugged Max. She pointed to a path running up the wall of the quarry, " Is it faster to get to the top if we take that path?"  
  
"I think it be risky. Path would be slippery with ice and snow. We want to bring out bikes too," said Dustin. He paused and said slowly,"Max?"

"Hmm? What?"

  
"Max, I don't think the shacks would be good places for know you know, " added Dustin, going red in the face.  
  
"Why?" said Max.  
  
"They're derelict. The one that overlooks the quarry, it has holes in the roof," said Dustin, " What I'm trying to say, they're not private and they're be cold......" Dustin trailed off in embarrassment.  
  
"Only one way to find out," said Lucas, he got off his bike and started walking it towards the track, following the footprints.  
  
"Do you really think he's, you know, with someone else?" asked Dustin to Max as they followed Lucas.  
  
"I don't know, Dustin, but I intend to find out why Neil lied to my mother and me this morning, " said Max fiercely.  
  
  
####  
  
The track from the quarry lake shoreline led upwards towards and away from the bottom of the quarry. At the bottom the path had been cut into the rock and was wide, so that the beginning of the path showed the footprints in the freshly fallen snow. As the the three friends walked further along, the cut walls gradually decreased in height and the forest trees drew closer, their branches overhanging the track. As the snow thinned, the pair of footprints gradually disappeared. The trail was one the boys used often in the summer months, usually riding down the trail. It was slow going wheeling the bikes up the slope of the hillside. They carried on climbing for half-an-hour, with Lucas and Max stopping every so often to allow Dustin catch up.  
  
"Maybe we should ditch the bikes?" said Max, looking back at a wheezing, red-faced Dustin, as they waited once more for Dustin to keep up with them.  
  
"Salem's Hollow further along. We could hid the bikes there," suggested Lucas, eyeing Dustin as he staggered up.  
  
"You need to loose a bit of padding, mate!"  
  
"Go mate yourself!" groaned Dustin.  
  
"Max said we make better progress if we leave the bikes behind," said Lucas," We're not far from Salem's Hollow."  
  
"Huh.... that's a bloody good idea, my BMX is killing me."  
  
A further mile up,  Lucas and Dustin stashed their bikes within the nook of a massive, ancient burr oak whose lower trunk had split and grown to form a narrow archway. When they were younger and smaller they were able to creep in and hide themselves in the narrow space. Nowadays they were too big but the space was still suitable for their bikes.  
  
"Why is it called Salem's Hollow?" asked Max curiously, as she stashed her skateboard with the boys' bicycles.  
  
Dustin pointed at the large, lower branches of the oak tree and said, "See those hoop-like scars on the branches. Mike came up with the idea that witches' used to be hung from them. The weight of the dead bodies sawed into bark, damaging the branches."  
  
"Huh, kinda freaking morbid!"  
  
"That's one way to describe Mike, " grinned Dustin, "He says it's his Scandinavian heritage. He said they eat sheep balls over there. That's got to mess with your outlook on life."  
  
"Ewwww!!"  
  
"Stop grossing Max out," said Lucas irritably," Do you think we're wasting our time following the trail. Max's stepfather could be anywhere in these woods."  
  
"I don't think he would have gone into the woods towards the sides of the quarry. The ground is loose on that side, too much chance of it giving way and falling into the water... ," said Dustin.  
  
"But he's new to the area, he wouldn't know that," argued Lucas.  
  
"Well, if he did go that way, then we would be dumb to risk our lives by following him," said Dustin flatly.  
  
"If we carry on walking on this track, where does it go? " asked Max.  
  
"It passes through a couple of clearings and eventually to the shack at the top at the top of the quarry. From there it splits into multiple paths into the surrounding forest," said Lucas.  
  
"If only we knew what he was carrying, " said Dustin thoughtfully.  
  
"Why?" said Max.  
  
"It would help us to narrow down where to look. For instance, I have firecrackers. If you were looking for me, you would head for the open spaces around here."  
  
“How do you know he’s carrying something?”  
  
“Both sets of footprints in the snow are sunken all the way to the ground. Even though the track here is frozen over, I fancy those marks there in the ground are their prints. ”  
  
“Okay Sherlock, what are they carrying then ? Are they're lugging a bed?” asked Lucas.  
  
”Don’t be silly, Watson! After slogging up this hill, would you really be in the mood for ...um.... I bet Max doesn’t think he’s doing that!”  
  
Max hedged, "Maybe you're right. But still, Neil shouldn't be here.... "  
  
“So what do think Mister Hargrove is doing up in these woods when he’s supposed to be in Evansville?” said Lucas.  
  
"Well, his actions over the past week might give us a clue. Have you noticed anything different regarding your stepfather?” asked Dustin turning to Max.  
  
Max scrunched her forehead in recollection before replying, "Not I noticed. Past couple of evenings, instead of watching TV with Mom, he's been spending time in the garage. He keeps it locked so I don't know what's in there."  
  
"Omigosh! I just remembered ! I ran into Billy at Radio Shack!" said Lucas.  
  
"Billy? Radio Shack!? You're sure?" said Max.  
  
"Yeah, it happened earlier this week. I didn't see him in person, as such.  I went to pick up my CB radio. I overheard him speak to Mister Thompson. Billy was picking up parts for your stepfather. "  
  
"You overheard him? How’s that?”  
  
Lucas flushed, "Mister Thompson let me use the bathroom. When I walked back to the front of the shop, I heard them speak."  
  
"Your stepfather works at Microdyne, right?" asked Dustin.  
  
"Yeah, but he's not involved with any research. He provides support for tech they sell," said Max, "He's like a travelling mechanic, really, travels to other people to fix their gear."  
  
"Well, there's definitely no tech in these woods to support, " said Dustin," We know he's brought parts from Radio Shack ..."  
  
"There was lot of stuff! I remember Billy straining to lift it all, " Lucas cut in, " From the way Mister Thompson spoke, it sounded like high-spec electronics and there were also battery packs."  
  
Dustin rubbed his chin thoughtfully and then his face brightened, he began walking around Lucas and Max, waving his arms excitedly.  
  
"He's been building something in his garage this past week! He's been secretive about it, at least to Max and her mom. And he's taken at least part of a day off work to go into the woods," said Dustin," Because.... he needs to test what he's built and the battery packs make these items portable even if they’re heavy.”  
  
"So what's he made, then?" asked Max.  
  
"I dunno, but I can certainly say that testing in the middle of nowhere suggests something he doesn't other people to know about and maybe it requires space he doesn't have in the garage at your home."  
  
"Maybe we should go back and check out our garage?" said Max.  
  
"Maybe...," said Dustin.  
  
"It would beat wandering around ....," began Lucas and stopped, startled by the flock of birds flying through the bare branches of the trees overhead. It was followed a moment later, by a loud cry echoing around the forest. A cry of anguish and intense pain. The cries were repeated, each successive cry of decreasing volume and then in mid-cry, it was suddenly cut short.  
  
"Shit, what was that?" said Lucas.  
  
Max shook her head, "Sounded like an animal caught in a trap?!"  
  
"We should go and take a look. I think it's close by, maybe from the first clearing," said Dustin.  
  
"If we cut through the woods from here, it'll be quicker, " suggested Lucas.  
  
Dustin nodded, " Good idea, whoever is in the clearing would easily see us coming up if we carried on using the trail.”  
  
"There's not really much cover in any case, " observed Max, looking at the tree trunks and low lying bushes denuded of greenery.  
  
"We just have to hope, who ever is up there is otherwise engaged....," replied Lucas.  
  
"Yeah, we got to be like ninjas!" said Dustin. Max rolled her eyes behind his back.  
  
The three friends cut through the forest, surveying their surroundings frequently to see if they could spot the source of the strangled animal cry. They found the going slower, as they moved through previously untrodden snow that came upto their calves. As per usual, Dustin lagged behind and to Lucas's surprise, Max bounded to the front of the group, the snow seemingly not a barrier to her movement. Almost like a female Legolas thought Lucas admiringly. Despite the bare branches overhead, it felt to Lucas that the forest away from the well-trodden trail was gloomier. He looked at his watch, almost two thirty. He recalled today, was the shortest day in the year, and it would get dark before four, if not sooner if it became overcast.  
  
Suddenly, Max threw herself forward into the snow. After a split second, Lucas quickly crouched behind a nearby tree. Behind him, he heard a muffled 'oomph' as Dustin probably copied Max and winded himself in the process. Lucas inched around the trunk and looked ahead of Max's position. The trees thinned slightly, patches of bright light caught his eye against the blue-grey snow in shadow. They had almost walked into the first clearing without realising. Then he saw a short-haired man with a moustache crouched over something. Lucas wondered if this was Max's stepfather. He looked over at Max, she had lifted her head and brought her arms to her sides as if to get up or to move into a crouched position. He heard familiar heavy breathing behind him, and, to him given their circumstances, a too loud a thump as Dustin collapsed to his knees to the ground beside him.  
  
Lucas turned to Dustin. His friend's face and hair was covered in snow. His mouth wide open in an attempt to breathe quietly. Under normal circumstances, Lucas would have teased his friend but instead, he brought a finger to his lips. Dustin acknowledged wearily.  
  
  
  
Then he heard a yap, like from a small dog, from the direction of the clearing. It was followed by frantic barking concurrent with a faint high-pitched artificial whine. He grimaced. The sound set his teeth on edge. It felt like nails being dragged across a blackboard. He noticed Dustin had blocked his ear holes with his fingers. The barking gradually diminished as the dog began to whimper instead. The artificial whine stopped. Lucas looked back towards the clearing. Max had moved several yards closer, she was squatting by the trunk of a green ash. She evidently had moved during the dog's barking. Lucas inwardly cursed his own lack of initiative.  
  
"That sound did something to the dog?" whispered Dustin.  
  
"Yeah, I know," said Lucas, " Is it Mister Hargrove?"  
  
"I think so.  We need to get closer," said Dustin, and clumsily while stooped over, broke cover and half-crawled, half-stumbled towards a burning bush, its corky branches heavy with snow.  
  
"Shit!" hissed Lucas, torn between joining his friend or his girlfriend.  
  
He glanced around the tree again. The man had moved further into the clearing, his back was turned. Judging by the way he was holding  his arms Lucas reckoned the man was writing on something.  
  
Lucas pushed away from the trunk, and towards Dustin. But his foot caught a tree root hidden by the snow. He tipped face first into the snow with an audible thump. Lucas laid still, face down in the snow, he closed his eyes and prayed that that man in the clearing did not move closer towards their position. Long seconds passed. Lucas found the melting snow under his warm breath to be quite refreshing, he hadn't realised how dry his mouth was. He raised his head slowly, the man was still in the clearing, still writing. He glanced over at his friends, Dustin gave a toothy grin and a thumbs up, but Max looked furious, she turned away once she established he was fine. Chastened, Lucas crawled across the snow towards Dustin and thinking he must have looked like Dustin when he fell face first into the snow.  
  
Once by Dustin, he settled into a squat and looked through the branches into the clearing. Lucas saw why Dustin had chosen the bush, aside from a few slender birches, they had nearly an unobstructed view of the clearing. In the middle of the clearing, a small cage sat on the trampled snow, a white terrier was inside, lying on its side. Lucas couldn't tell if it was still alive. Arranged around the cage, were three loudspeaker boxes with handles affixed to their tops. From the one nearest to their location, Lucas saw the back panel had been removed, a black box protruded from the bottom and from the top he noticed an antennae. In between, a profusion of different coloured cables emerged. The man had set up a folding seat and on it was an open brown briefcase, set away from the cage and the speakers. Near the seat on ground, were two empty cages, and, Lucas realised with revulsion a small pile, it looked like two bodies of a cat and a dog.  
  
"It's Mister Hargrove?"  
  
"Yeah. Max confirmed it," whispered Dustin.  
  
Lucas looked over at Max, she was staring at her stepfather intently;  he was still busy writing in a large notebook.  
  
"How?"  
  
"We signalled."  
  
Lucas decided to ask for elaboration later and instead hissed, "Did he kill the cat and the dog?"  
  
"Looks like it."  
  
They watched as Mister Hargrove walked to each modified loudspeaker, and fiddled with a small panel, with dials and switches, affixed under the antennae before approaching the cage with the terrier inside. He gave the cage a kick with his boot. Lucas noticed he was wearing green from waist down; hiking boots and waterproof trousers. The dog lying inside the cage stayed still.  
  
"That's the Heron's pet terrier, Freddie," commented Dustin sadly.  
  
"Shit! He's the one who's been stealing pets in Hawkins?"  
  
"Looks like it."  
  
Then a tuneless whistle carried through the trees. Neil Hargrove looked up and whistled back. Like a mockingbird though Lucas. Moments later, Billy Hargrove swaggered into the clearing from the track coming down into the clearing. Despite the cold he was only wearing a grey tee and tight blue denim jeans. In his left hand he wore gauntlet style gloves, almost reaching his elbow, in which he carried an empty, with faded prin, feed sack. The other glove flapped from his belt. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. He had heard from Max that Billy had been involved in a fight with basketball players from another school, on Thursday evening, but if had Lucas couldn’t tell from Billy's face. It looked normal and that normality was something that had bugged Lucas for a while now. Ever since he witnessed Billy's and Steve's fight in the Byers house several weeks back. Even though Steve had struck him in the face, when Lucas saw him the next day, Billy's blonde features were unmarked.  
  
"You took your damn time?!" snapped his father by way of greeting.  
  
Billy shrugged, took a deliberate drag on his cigarette, and said, "It took a while to find the room that the good doctor indicated on his piss-poor map. To be honest there's not much left. There’s a fucking massive hole instead of a wall, y'know.  In any case, the route to the room is all sorted."  
  
"You've better have! This ain't California anymore. You fuck up, we're both dead. They don't tolerate mistakes."  
  
“Now you tell me,” smirked Billy. Neil Hargrove's eyes narrowed angrily and Billy added quickly,” So you worked out where you being going wrong with the guinea-pigs?.”  
   
"Yes. I've made adjustments and reworked the calculations. I've set the output required for a young teenage girl. It'll work."  
  
Lucas heard Dustin suck in his breath sharply.  
  
"All this hassle for a freak. If she's so dangerous, why don't they just trank her from a distance?" asked Billy.  
  
The elder Hargrove paused before replying. Lucas could tell from his face that Billy had suggested reasonable. Instead, Neil said tersely, "You're not paid to think."  
  
Billy scowled, "Just saying, it seems we risking a lot for some bizzaro weapon thats ended up killing a lot animals for ....."  
  
"Let me worry about that. Take the bodies, this one too, it's dead."  
  
“Why can’t we leave the bodies here? “  
  
“Because idiot, we don’t want them to know how they died. We're going to burn the evidence once we finished setting up."  
  
Lucas watched Neil Hargrove kneel by one of the cages, and slipped a folded piece of paper inside. Max's stepfather looked around the clearing. He stared for a while at the burning bush where Dustin and himself were hiding. Lucas kept very still; trying not to blink or move. Neil turned back to Billy and ordered, ”Take the 'hummer' . "  
  
While Billy tossed the animal bodies into the sack, his father put his notebook into the briefcase, folded the stool and walked over to the modified loudspeaker closest to Lucas and Dustin's position. The boys again held their breath but the adult Hargrove grasped handle atop the speaker, and with a grunt, heaved it up and carried it over to the stool.  
  
"Take the other as well," said Neil Hargrove.  
  
Lucas watched the Hargroves leave the clearing. Billy carrying the two 'hummers' and the sack containing the three dead animals. His father with the other 'hummer', the briefcase and the folding seat.  
  
Max was the first to leave her hiding place. Lucas quickly joined her as she gazed down the path that her step-father and her step-brother had taken. He was vaguely aware of Dustin walking to the discarded cages.  
  
"Who are they?" Max said out aloud," Why are they killing people's pets? What's going on?"  
  
Lucas gave Max an awkward shoulder hug, uncertain of what to say to her under the circumstances. He could feel her trembling. He hugged her tighter. He couldn't even start to think what it must be like for her to see people she thought she knew inflict cruelty on other living things. He felt nauseous that Mister Hargrove had deliberately killed a number of animals, people's cherished pets, using some kind of strange weapon for an unknown purpose.  
  
"My mother and I have been living with monsters!" said Max, "Lucas, I need to tell her the truth about Neil and Billy."  
  
"Yeah, we need to report this to Hopper too," agreed Lucas.  
  
"Um, guys," said Dustin from behind them.  
  
Their curly haired friend was holding up a piece of paper by the edges. It was a black and white xerox. In the corner, a stamp of a coat of arms, a lion and an unicorn rampant against a shield. The words 'Military Intelligence Section 6' next to it. On the xerox was a drawing, one typical of a young child. There was a small figure and larger figure. Each figure was labelled by an arrow, identifying who they were to the viewer. 'Eleven' and 'Papa'. Lucas felt his stomach drop when the meaning of the exchange between the Hargroves became suddenly clear.  
  
Lucas gulped. He glanced at Max who had gone pale. He turned to Dustin, " No! No, they can't be."  
  
Dustin nodded grimly, " Yes! Whoever the Hargroves really are, they want Eleven. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Billy Hargrove is more than human?
> 
> 2\. Assume Dustin, Lucas & Max watching James Bond would know what the Royal Arms signify.
> 
> 3\. Blackboard and chalk. From ye olde days before whiteboards and markers.
> 
> 4\. Vulcan grip on Mike from Will would probably be too much.


	17. Toni Bridges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toni Bridges meets up with old acquaintances in Illinois, Indiana and Chicago .....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Apologies if tenses are all over the place. Supposed to be written in British English grammar.
> 
> 2\. { investigative journalism storyline } { hopper unscathed? storyline } { mystery intruder storyline } { kali storyline } { hargrove storyline }
> 
> 2a. Attempting to pull the storylines together :)
> 
> 3\. I'm aware of the Stranger Things novel which goes into the story behind Terry Ives' sad fate but have not read it.
> 
> 4\. Apologies for any mistakes regarding the American medical system and guns / gun laws.
> 
> 5\. NSFW : adult themes and swear words used.
> 
> 6\. It seems from Dig Dug and Lost Sister that Jane / Eleven did not relate her mother's lobotomy to her aunt, concentrating instead on finding Kali. Hence in this fanfic, people think Terry Ives' injured herself during attempted retrieval of her baby from Hawkins National Lab.

_'A day wasted on others is not wasted on one's self.' ― Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities  
  
_**20th Thursday December 1984**  
  
**Murray Bauman's home, Sesser, Illinois**  
  
"Is this the place?" Toni Bridges muttered as she surveyed the rounded corrugated-roofed warehouse with weather-stained satellite dishes set at right angles to each other. The bright winter sun revealed in high contrast every detail of the nearly dilapidated buildings. The rusted metal panelling and pitted concrete blocks that delineated the main building and side buildings either had seen little maintenance or despite its relative modernity had rapidly and ungracefully aged compared to more traditional building materials. The newish, burgundy Toyota van parked next to the side building suggested someone was inside the warehouse. The Chicago Tribune journalist approached the metal door spray painted in ragged red 'Keep Door Closed'. Various indoor detritus lined the wall to the right of the door; soggy cardboard boxes, rubbish bags piled atop each other and even a cream coloured office-chair with a curious stain on its seat.  
  
Toni Bridges rang the door buzzer set low to the left side of the spray-painted front door.  
  
The sudden crackle from the loudspeaker made her jump. There was pause, then from the loudspeaker, the distorted voice of Murray Bauman. "Go away, Bridges!"  
  
"I just want to talk to you, Murray!"  
  
"Read my lips! Go away!"  
  
"Didn't you listen to my message? The one I left for you, yesterday evening?!" said Toni, "Why didn't you call back?"  
  
"I don't speak with those that sleep with the Man!" The loudspeaker went dead.  
  
Toni stepped back and looked up at the camera facing perpendicular over the front door. She pulled out an aerosol can from her Chanel bag. She brandished it upwards in front of the camera lens.  
  
"Murray Bauman, if you don't open up, I will spray paint the front of your .... whatever you call this dump ... something like ....'Murray Bauman loves commies ! Murray Bauman is a stooge of the CIA' in bright pink no less!"  
  
Toni waited. She shivered as the bitterly cold wind cut through her clothes.  
  
Toni shook the can - the ball inside rattled noisily - and stepped backwards, past the pile of indoor rubbish, to face the shuttered metal door, presumably the former deliveries portal, on the right side of the front door and yelled," I'm not joking! On the count of three! One!....."  
  
From within the property, she heard rapid footsteps and the sound of multiple bolts being withdrawn. The spray-painted door swung open. Murray Bauman stood in the doorway, his face furious. To Toni's eye Bauman's clothing choices seemed as if he closed his eyes and just picked items at random. He was still in his multi-colored dressing gown. It hung open to reveal that he was wearing a too-tight beige jumper and way-too-short, formerly aqua-colored shorts and black socks, pulled to mid-calf, with indoor slippers. What caught her attention most though was the luminescent green woollen hat on his head and the burgundy red scarf wrapped around his neck.  
  
"Good morning, Murray! Good seeing you again,  Murray! Lovely hat you're wearing," grinned Toni Bridges, still holding the aerosol can against the shuttered door.  
  
"You're bluffing about the paint, right?"  
  
Toni pressed the nozzle, a squirt of bright neon pink hit the goods-in door.  
  
"No!" cried Murray Bauman. He ran awkwardly towards Toni, his indoor slippers slapping loudly on the concrete. Toni sprayed another blob on the metal door before she tossed the can at Murray's head, who fumbled the catch and dropped the can. She easily looped past Murray and ran into his home.  
  
After a few steps, she turned around. He was glowering at her. He held up the aerosol can labelled 'Banksy Neon Pink Spray Paint'. " I going to sue you, Bridges! Property damage! Assault with an offensive weapon! Unlawful entry into private property."  
  
" I'm 'sleeping with the Man', remember? You don't stand a chance," Toni laughed at the furious expression on Murray's face.  
  
She turned the corner, pushed past the orange grated double-doors into the main living area.  
  
"Make yourself at home, why don't you ?" called Murray after Toni.  
  
She grinned at his words and then almost immediately she regretted not taking a deep breath of fresher air beforehand. The smell of unwashed male was strong enough to make her gag. She coughed, and tried to avoid breathing through her nose, the odour of unwashed body and unwashed clothes was rank.  
  
Toni looked around the main living area of Murray Bauman's home. It was a like a cave, she thought, only the kitchen light was turned over. Pale outdoor light picked out a bank of television sets, turned off, against one wall. While the kitchen table was relatively bare, everywhere else there were stacks of books, pamplets and magazines piled higgledy-piggledy on flat surfaces raised above the floor; Toni's cursory glances took subject matter ranging from political conspiracies to cryptozoology. On a side-table, a box file was open, a drawing of girl with buzzed hair, with a label 'Eleven' stuck on it was the top sheet.  
  
"Looks no different from your old dingy apartment, above that Asian restaurant, " she commented as Murray walked in. He shot back a withering glare.  
  
"What are doing you here?" said Murray bluntly, "I'm a busy man."  
  
She recalled Bauman was never an early riser, often turning up to the Chicago Tribune newsroom well past lunch time. On his kitchen table: an untouched Eggo on a red plate, a not-safe-for-work magazine opened to splayed female nudity. It was mid-morning, the time normal people at work on a weekday would have been contemplating a coffee and maybe a snack.  
  
"This isn't a social call, Murray. I thought the message I left yesterday evening would have been of interest to you? You didn't phone back. So this morning I decided to drive down.”  
  
 "What?! You expected me to come running, like one of fawning admirers or lover-boys, after listening to your terse message ; overinflated with exaggerated importance?"  
   
Toni smiled tightly. "You always stressed the need to be careful when using telecommunications. What’s that pithy phrase you used to love quoting at me. Walls have ears? I had to be necessarily obtuse."  
  
"Instructing the instructor now, eh?"  
  
"I’m here now, in person,” said Toni evenly, “This story is about the involvement of the Department of Energy in secret human subject research."  
  
Murray make a show of being fascinated by the dirt under his nails. He smiled at Toni's irritation at his deliberate stalling. He said, "The Department of Energy are currently neutered in this part of the US. The infamous Hawkins Lab has closed. Due, in no small part to yours truly. And now a few weeks later, you come along and tell me that the Department of Energy are doing secret experiments in Chicago, just up the road, so to speak? Oh, come on! The Department can't be that stupid or even that brazen! If the Department of Energy ever start doing that kind of research in this part of the world, it'd be in a couple of years time.... at least."  
  
"I saw Doctor Everard Read with my own eyes. She's overseeing this personally. I found out this morning that she’s the new director of the Project.”  
  
"Oh come now! Where's the hook? I taught you much better than that!"  
  
Toni took out the two IIford film rolls that Jack had given her in the basement of the Shallows, "These film canisters came at the cost of Jack Colton's life. He was killed by .... a schoolgirl using some sort of mind control...."  
  
"Colton was a good man .... " began Murray. He paused as Toni's words sunk in, and then said excitedly, "It's her!"  
  
"Who?"  
  
He picked up the hand drawn picture of the girl with the closely cropped hair and asked of Toni, "Was it her!?"  
  
Toni shook her head. "No, it definitely wasn’t her. There were two school girls in private school uniform, in the Shallows on Tuesday night. One was a pre-teen Asian girl. The other a blonde girl, at least 17 years old, maybe older. It was the blonde girl that killed Jack."  
  
The journalist took a closer look at the picture of Eleven and stared at the name, "Omigosh! Their names makes sense now !"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Doctor Read was calling the Asian girl 'Ten' and the blonde 'Nine'. If this is 'Eleven', it means the Department of Energy has a group of ... what do you call them, again?"  
  
"Psionics."  
  
"Yeah. That means there are psionics numbered from 'One' to 'god-knows' how many....," said Toni, "Wait! How did you know about 'Eleven'?"  
  
"I was told by very reliable source, that she was a former experimental subject overseen by the late Doctor Martin Brenner."  
  
Toni Bridges looked at Murray Bauman expecting him to carry on talking.  
  
"You show me yours, I show you mine, " said Bauman, smirking at his own innuendo.  
  
"Fair enough, I was going to tell you my story anyway," said Toni Bridges, "Let's see, it started when I went to McDonalds on Saturday night ...."  
  
  
#####  
  
  
Murray Bauman peered at the syringe barrel that Toni Bridges had unwrapped. It sat on white muslin cloth, with bits of  stretchy plastic, on his kitchen table. He picked up the syringe and gave it a sniff before to Toni's surprise, licked the end.  
  
"What the hell?!" said Toni Bridges, "What did you do that for?"  
  
"I guess I was curious what a 'psionic serum' tastes like. I never thought it would be kinda .... salty, " said Bauman, " Smells like .... hmmm, you said you had one examined?"  
  
"There were several in the bag, so I let the lab have three and the specimen tub. It's going to take a while for the results to come through. Whatever drugs Doctor Read are injecting into those kids, we're going to know."  
  
"Hmm, there were six beds that night?" Murray asked, taking a medical sheet and looking at the letters and numbers; it looked like gobbledygook to Bauman's eyes. He could see why Toni thought the individuals were on some sort of drug regime given the repetition of the codes at regular intervals.  
  
"Yes, there were six syringes in the bag."  
  
"What's the stretchy plastic?"  
  
"It's parafilm wrap; nothing special, florists use it to wrap flower stems," said Toni.  
  
"And the secret ward in the Chicago Mental Hospital has been closed up?"  
  
"I don't know," said Toni, "Jack and I only confirmed Faith's story was true on Tuesday night. By the time I got back to Chicago it was Wednesday morning. It’s taken me a little while to process what I saw at the Shallows.”  
  
"And you intend to go back toi Binbrook Airfield to see what the Department of Energy are doing with the drugged up guinea-pigs."  
  
"Yes. Tomorrow night, if you join me."  
  
Murray Bauman sat back and said flatly, "No."  
  
"No?!" Toni echoed in surprise and said, "The Department of Energy are doing secret human test subject research. What they're doing fits the modus operandi of the old MKUltra project. Secretive and willing to kill to hide their work. They're forcibly recruiting desperate people from the fringes of society as test subjects. This is already newsworthy. Once we will know for sure what drugs they’re testing on these poor people, this will be great story!"  
  
"As much as I hate to say this I'm glad we had this chat, sharing notes so to speak. I agree that the Department of Energy have a successful psionics program. I wished I had seen those girls in action. It sounds like this Doctor Read is carrying on the work of Doctor Brenner. What you have stumbled upon brings up many fascinating questions like the set up you've described suggests psionic ability can be induced by a drug cocktail ...."  
  
"I can tell you're interested! Join me in the investigation," said Toni earnestly.  
  
He shook his head. " What you need is a photographer for tomorrow night."  
  
Toni turned away from her former mentor at the Chicago Sun-Tribune. She saw a few scattered business cards on a chair: 'Murray Bauman, Private Investigator.' She picked one card up. A thought crossed her mind. She looked around Bauman's living quarters, seeing it with fresh eyes. The only electrical light that was turned on was the kitchen's. If it hadn't been a relatively bright winter's day, the living area would have been in darkness instead of merely gloomy. She shivered and realised she hadn't removed her outdoor jacket; it wasn't exactly comfortable, temperature wise either. It explained his adhoc sartorial choices to keep warm indoors. The staleness of the air. The piles of laundry. The bank of televisions turned off. The untouched Eggo should have a red flag when she saw it. Murray was an advocate of what he called 'clean eating'. Basically, any foodstuffs that had been invented since the Second World War he avoided eating and anything he considered 'not real food' produced by the corporations he detested so much.  
  
She flicked his business card with the tip of her red-painted fingernail and smiled brightly at Murray.  
  
"I like to hire you in your capacity as a private investigator," Toni said.  
  
"You what?!"  
  
"You heard me. We've just discussed the specifics of the case. We are going to bring to light the iniquities of the Department of Energy, " said Toni grandly.  
  
Murray grimaced and gurned a variety of faces before he finally said, " Okay, you hired me. But um, .... I need an advance."  
  
Toni counted out five benjamins from her purse and put the film canister rolls beside them.  
  
"I'm lead in this enquiry. Because I trust you, I want you to develop these films for me and to keep the negatives in a safe place."  
  
Murray licked his lips at the sight of the money and managed, " Yes, boss-lady."  
  
"And I want you to meet up with me, tomorrow evening in Chicago. We are going to find out what Doctor Everard Read is up to!"

 

####

  
  
**20th Thursday December 1984**  
  
**The Ives house, Indiana**  
  
Toni Bridges parked her Audi 5000 by the side of path that lead up to the house at 515 Larabee Road. She turned off the car engine. Even though it mid-afternoon, the sky was already darkening. The snow was falling thickly now and her view through the windscreen of the bungalow house in front of her was becoming obscured. She bite her lip and expelled her breath, pulled the car key from the ignition and then stepped out of her car. The snow had started to settled on the low roof but it failed to hid the general shabbiness of the house. The separate overhanging roof needed repairs. The paint on the loft window and the rake under eaves of the roof were peeling. Through the denuded birches and bushes, she saw the curtain twitch. She had been spotted. Even if she wanted to, she couldn't leave now. She walked up to the porch and saw the front door seemed a little worse for wear. Before she could touch the door, it opened and in the front hallway stood Becky Ives, the elder sister of the woman she had come to see.  
  
"Aren't you kinda late, given what's been happening this fall?" drawled Becky Ives. She looked tired, a little frazzled, her hair not as tidy as usual and the lines on her face more prominent. Toni noticed she had her long sleeved cardigan inside out.  
  
"Excuse me? I don't follow? I've been busy since Memorial Day," said Toni Bridges hurriedly," I've been meaning to visit for a while. How is Terry?"  
  
Becky rubbed her eyes tiredly, blew out her breath and said, "I'm sorry. Just Terry has been more 'active' than usual. At least you've made the effort. I've never imagined my 'popular' sister would be reduced to having a journalist as her main visitor for the past couple of years. Come in, the heating bill is high enough as it is without me leaving the door wide open."  
  
Toni kicked the snow off her boots on the welcome mat before walking into the Ives' house. After Becky closed the front door, she handed a small parcel wrapped in Christmas-themed paper to Becky, " I know it's early but Happy Christmas, something for you."  
  
Becky smiled bitterly," Yeah, sure is that happy time of year. Thanks. I'm making tea, want one?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
Toni followed Becky into the kitchen.  As they walked past the open door to the front room, Toni saw that Terry was asleep. She sat by the wooden table and looked around. Nothing seemed to have changed since her last visit in September. She watched the elder Ives' sister, take another cup from a mug rack, pour hot water from a kettle into it and transferred a teabag from another cup. Presumably hers. Second hand tea thought Toni.  
  
"You want milk?" Becky asked.  
  
"Sure."  
  
A moment later, Becky handed Toni her milky tea. She took a sip. The flavour of tea was weak despite the teabag sitting at bottom of her cup. She revised her judgement on the tea-bag. Third-hand. Becky probably had used it to make a cup of tea for Terry as well.  
  
They drank in silence for a while, before Toni asked, " How are things with you?"  
  
"Same old same old. Hardly an exciting life looking after my sister now is it?"  
  
"She's very lucky to have you..." said Toni sincerely.  
  
"So you keeping saying," said Becky dismissively.  
  
"I'm sure if she could, she say so too."  
  
"Huh! Not like I have powers like her daughter, Jane, and can communicate with her."  
  
"Daughter? You mean Terry's daughter is real?! Was she here? When was this?"  
  
Becky's eyes narrowed. " You don't know, do you? The well-informed Ms Bridges, doesn't know everything after all."  
  
"No," replied Toni, "I don't."  
  
Becky lit up a cigarette and took a few puffs, "Yeah, you really don't. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here. My sister wouldn't here, rotting her life away next door as a fucking vegetable."  
  
"You just said Terry's daughter is real and she turned up here recently?" Toni asked, attempting to cut off another, in her view, the repetitive conversation about who was to blame for Terry Ives' vegetative state. Toni already felt bad enough that the legal suit that Terry Ives brought against Doctor Martin Brenner had failed. The fall out from that resulted in Terry accidentally electrocuting herself when she walked into an ongoing experiment, after entering the Hawkins National Laboratory unlawfully and shooting a security guard no less.  
  
"She sure did. I thought it was another ghoul wanting to gawk. It being Halloween and all. Brings out the weirdoes, doesn't? I told her to go away. And then the front door opens from the inside. I see with my own eyes as the latch moves by itself and the door flung open. And a teenage girl in dungarees, like some kind of country hick, stands there all serious looking and bleeding from her nose...."  
  
"She was bleeding from her nose?"  
  
"Yeah, I didn't know that happens when you know.... psychics use their 'abilities'," said Becky, "Learn something new everyday, eh?"  
  
"Was she blonde, like Terry, and um, was she well-spoken?" asked Toni.  
  
 " 'Well-spoken'? I'm not sure what that means! She didn't say very much. She seemed quite hesitant around me. Like someone you imagined who had been cooped up alone, without much human contact," said Becky, "Now that you mention it, not a blonde like Terry or me. She had long curly brown hair. Why? Are you saying she wasn't Jane? 'Cos Terry recognised her, blinking lights and nosebleed too. You know, I didn't really believe that these .... psychic powers were real till I saw it with my own eyes. Both Terry and Jane."  
   
 "Powers?  Terry and Jane ....hang on." Toni pulled a pocket folder from her bag, flipped through sheets of paper and took out a xerox of the drawing of 'Eleven'. "Was this Jane?"  
   
 Becky looked at the artist's impression of her niece. She ran her finger across the name below the face.  
   
 "Oh my, this is her! Well, this picture must be when she was younger though. Why has she no hair?! Where did you get this?! Why is Jane numbered 'Eleven'?"  
   
 "I found out that this girl, your Jane, escaped from the Hawkins National Laboratory last Fall," said Toni, " You said just now that Terry had powers too? I guess, I never asked her directly, I don't think. Did you know she had powers?"  
   
 "You mean Jane has been in Hawkins all this time?! Shit! Cooped up in a research lab?! No wonder she never said anything it when I tried to ask her! Brenner must have been doing all sort of things to her!! That's why she's a number, right? Jane was just a number to the fuckers!"  
   
 "Becky! You said Terry showed her power when her daughter was here?" cut in Toni.  
   
"What? Oh yeah, you know I always thought this house had wiring issues, lights blinking on and off, could never find what fault was, even had the whole house rewired back when I had some money. Then Jane comes along and explains the blinking lights are Terry's doing, " said Becky.  
   
Becky smiled mirthlessly." Terry was always a dark horse, you know. We weren't on speaking terms for a long time. I didn't know she had taken part in Project MkUltra or that she was even pregnant until it was obvious she couldn't manage alone. Despite her brains and looks, she couldn't keep down a job for any length of time....."  
  
"Well, obviously Jane isn't here. Where is she?" interrupted Toni.  
  
Becky stubbed out her old cigarette and lit a new one. "I don't know. She just suddenly took off, swiped some bills from my purse. I don't know where she is and we haven't heard from her since."  
  
The younger Ives' sister looked away and Toni wondered what she had omitted.  
  
"You said Jane talked to her mother with um, her mind. Did she say what they talked about?"  
  
"Jane said her mother showed her two girls in the rainbow room at Hawkins Lab. Herself and a dark-skinned girl. I showed Jane all the newspaper clippings of missing children that Terry kept. She recognised this Indian girl who had been kidnapped from London, England. The England where Princess Diana lives. Here's the article."  
  
Toni looked at the newspaper article about the kidnapped Indian girl amongst the other clippings in the manilla folder that Becky retrieved from between two cookery books.  
  
"Prisha Prasad," said Toni, "That name. The girl too looks familiar...."  
  
"Yes! That's because her face and name have been in the newspapers, TV and radio this past week! Her folks are apparently millionaires. They've come over from England and are offering $5000 for information on her whereabouts in the US. They even have a made-up picture of her as a young adult. I kept that clipping too. Look."  
  
The journalist looked at the artist's picture of Prisha Prasad imagined as an young adult of twenty. She didn't think the sketch was very good. She quickly skimmed the article about the Prasads.  
  
"It seems whoever took her just snatched her right out her bedroom?! Did our Government really sanction that? " said Toni, shaking her head.  
  
"That takes some balls, doesn't it? You know her father was originally a street magician doing parlour tricks and illusions before he made his millions," said Becky.  
  
"Hmmm, I guess they never reckoned on Prisha's parents doing so well for themselves and eventually having the resources to track her down."  
  
"Yeah and I was so close to that $5000 too! I bet you, Jane and Prisha are together now," said Becky regretfully.  
  
Toni's eyes narrowed at Becky's mercenary admission and wondered what really happened to make Jane leave her mother and sister so abruptly but she said instead, " I wonder what Prisha will do once she finds out that her parents are here."  
  
"Probably go back and live in a castle in England!"  
  
Before Toni could reply, the overhead incandescent lights in the kitchen and across the kitchen partition, in the living room, began to flicker, turning on and off. Toni shuddered involuntarily, the events of Tuesday evening in the Chicago Mental Hospital basement still vivid and fresh in her memory. She looked towards the woman sitting in the rocking chair in the front room. Becky had already moved across to her sister.  
  
As Toni Bridged entered the room, the TV switched on, a fuzzy image of an multi-limbed creature came to view, the edges of its body undulating amongst the spots of glimmering light on the rocky ground beneath. It took a moment for Toni to realise it was a squid swimming along the bottom of the sea-floor.  
  
"Squid, Jane, trap," said Terry Ives, staring straight ahead, "Squid, Jane, trap."  
  
"Shush, now," said Becky, as she wiped away some blood underneath her sister's nose, with a handkerchief. She turned around to Toni Bridges, " This has been going on since last Saturday!"  
  
It's true, Terry Ives is a psionic thought Toni as she looked at the woman in the rocking chair.  
  
"Look who's here to see you today, Terry, " said Becky, " Your friend, Toni. She's going to stay a while and read to you for a bit."  
  
"Hi, Terry! Yeah, fancy a bit of Roald Dahl ?"  
  
"Squid, Jane, trap."  
  
"They're new words," remarked Toni, as she scanned the bookshelf for the book she was reading to Terry Ives ; Tales of the Unexpected by Roald Dahl.  
  
"On Saturday night, she started to turn the lights on and off, turned the television on and saying these words instead of 'rainbow' etcetera, " said Becky, " This must be a good thing, right? It's like meeting her daughter has triggered something inside of Terry. Before now it was just a tiny hope. But now I kind of know, all this activity is her doing, she's still inside, aware of everything. It makes me think I made the right decision in contacting the brain injury specialist, earlier this week."  
  
"Squid, Jane, trap."  
  
"Ah, there you are, " said Toni, as she eased out the slim book, squeezed between Jackie Collins and Tom Robbins. "Sorry, what brain injury specialist?"  
  
"Doctor Dean Firmly. Georgia told me about him on one of her visits recently. Apparently, he's moved back to Indiana from New York, " said Becky," I spoke with him on the phone. He sounds like a very nice man. In fact, after hearing about Terry, he's so keen to see her that he's made an exception for us and we're going to see him tomorrow."  
  
"That's great news!"  
  
"Yeah, hopefully, this is the beginning of a new chapter for Terry, for us."  
  
"Squid, Jane, trap."  
  
Toni pulled up a chair by Terry Ives, while Becky switched off the television. Toni opened the book to the dog-eared page and began to read, " Yesterday was Beautiful ...."  
  
  
#####  
  
**21st Friday December 1984**  
  
**The Gower Peninsula Hotel, Chicago**  
  
Toni Bridges looked at herself in the full length mirror of the executive suite in the Gower Pennisula Hotel. A suite of rooms that an admirer had told her she could use whenever he was out of town. She was wearing Jordache jeans, brown calf riding boots and an Eisenhower style jacket from Burberry. She adjusted the black beret on the head. It was the only black-coloured item of clothing she was wearing. A tribute to Jack Colton she thought sombrely. She shifted her shoulders, acutely conscious of the weight of the Smith Wesson revolver in the holster by the left side of her body. Since Tuesday night, she had started carrying a handgun as protection against psionic school girls. The incongruity of the last thought was not lost on Toni. Nevertheless, despite their amazing abilities, they were still flesh and blood, vulnerable to the killing impact of a projectile fired from a modern weapon, at least, amended Toni, if she caught them unawares.  
  
She had stayed longer than planned at the Ives' house on Thursday. She had noticed Becky resting her head in her arms on the kitchen table. It appeared she was taking a nap. So Toni had carried on reading, completing four short stories from Roald Dahl. As before during her previous readings, Terry Ives remained silent, no repetition of words, as if she was paying complete attention to Toni's words. Toni had deliberately read slowly, carefully enunciating each word. It was only until she had finished 'A Piece of Cake' and Becky had startled to wakefulness, that Terry began repeating the words 'Squid', 'Jane' and 'trap'. Toni intuited that Terry was trying to impart a message or despite the fact the words were uttered without inflection, a warning rather than her sister's interpretation that her brain was beginning to heal itself. Before she had left the Ives, she had discreetly left some cash on the dresser, underneath Terry's Christmas present, in the living room. Becky never said acknowledged her charity. For Toni it felt the right thing considering what happened to Terry but it was one thing she didn't like to introspect too deeply.  
  
While driving back to Chicago, Toni had reflected upon three words. If the words were interpreted as warning, it meant that Terry's daughter was in danger. From a squid? That made no sense unless say, she was on a fishing boat off Southern California. Maybe she had fallen foul of people traffickers and was part of illegal child labour in the fishing industry. According to Murray, there were witnesses to Jane breaking a boy's arm with what he called telekinesis. Mind over matter. He reckoned Nine was a telekinetic too. Though if a telekinetic was stuck on boat, in the middle of the ocean, breaking people's bones wasn't very useful thing to do Toni thought amusedly. She rather thought Becky had hit upon on the right idea. That Jane had found Prisha and they were both hiding from the Department of Energy, in fact, likely to be hiding from civilised society as well. Given what she herself had witnessed and from the accounts of others, troubling events seemed follow these psionic girls whenever they interacted with normal people. She felt a touch of a sadness that none of these girls would never likely be able to live normal lives in 1980s America. Not if people knew what they were capable of, and certainly not if governments and countries thought they could be used as weapons.  
  
That the Department of Energy had actually kidnapped a young girl from another country, a supposed ally of the United States of America, still shocked her. The audacity and hypocrisy of such an act seemed almost unbelievable for democratic state that crowed to the whole world about the freedoms it afforded to its citizenry. She wondered what the Department of Energy would do if the adult Prisha Prasad turned up in the full glare of publicity and the news of this broadcast across the America, the world even. Would the US Government leave the Prasads alone? It made Toni think of where else in the world they had kidnapped children from and what the parents were doing now to find their missing child. If they had made the mistake in not contemplating that the parents could become seriously wealthy, maybe they misjudged in other ways how resourceful and indefatigable these families could be in the future.  
  
Toni heard a knock from the front door to the executive suite. She looked at the Jaeger-LeCoultre clock on the wall and frowned, it read eight thirty. If it was Bauman he was more than a hour early. Perhaps, he was looking to make a good impression on the 'boss-lady'. She smiled to herself. Maybe she should insist he call her that for the duration of the investigation. She walked to the door of the suite, moved the cover of the door viewer and looked through the door peephole.  
  
Toni Bridges froze. Outside her door, stood the pretty blonde and little Asian school girls. Both wearing brown jackets and brown skirts. They were quietly conferring amongst themselves and not paying attention to the door. The view through the fisheye lens suggested the girls were alone in the corridor. Their handlers were probably nearby, waiting behind the corridor corner most likely, Toni thought.  
  
Toni slowly stepped backwards away from the executive suite door. The stark facts of her predicament made her strangely calm. They had found her; there was no point now analysing how. She was trapped in a room on the 13th floor of a building. The walls and floors of the executive suites were soundproofed, there was no point in attempting to scream for help. The windows were crippled to only open a little way for ventilation. Even if she managed to get outside, there was no ledge or balcony to climb on, either up or down or along to another hotel room. The only way out was through the main door. She wondered if she could have shot the blonde girl through the door, like they seemed to do in the movies. It was probably too late now to tip toe quietly back and try.  
  
There was another knock. A little louder.  
  
"Fuck," she whispered, it was definitely too late now.  
  
She turned and grabbed her filofax and the pocket folder holding her notes about the secret ward at the Shallows and her recent meeting with Murray Bauman. Part of her was glad that he had insisted on xeroxing her notes. She went to the bathroom, scrunched each sheet. Taking the picture of Eleven, she lit the corner of it with a lighter. It seemed to take an age to catch. As the flames licked up, she dropped into the burning picture into her pile of notes and watched as the flames take and paper slowly curled and blackened. She unhooked the address book portion of her filofax and dropped individual pages into the little burning pile.  
  
A third knock. Much louder and multiple times and it seemed to be made by two pair of hands. This time she heard the crisp tones of the blonde girl call, "Ms Bridges? We know you're inside."  
  
"Give me a moment! I'm coming!" lied Toni, cursing the pile of paper to hurry up and burn away to ashes.  
  
She pulled out her Sears mini cassette recorder and popped out the cassette. Her thoughts about what she had heard in the Ives household was recorded on the tape. If there was a chance that Bauman could find the tape after she bid adieu ; part of her snorted at her squeamishness at using euphemism to skirt her impending demise. She went back to the main room and hid the tape. Afterwards she placed an another cassette from another job into the recorder. She dropped the recorder and filofax onto the sofa.  
  
"Ms Bridges! Please be so kind to open the door!"  
  
Toni strode towards the hotel room door. She pulled out her revolver and released the safety catch, checked the round had been chambered. She felt serene as she aimed the gun at the door. Despite having having not been to church in a long time, the Lord's Prayer came easily to her lips as she whispered it under her breath, "Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done...."  
  
She heard the Asian girl's sing-song voice through the door, "Adult African-American woman. High heartbeat. High adrenaline. High cortisol. Sympathetic nervous system activated. Index finger of right hand tensed."  
  
She felt the faintest patter of pin-pricks all over her body. In horrific anticipation her gorge rose.  
  
She still had autonomy. Toni pulled the trigger of her Smith and Wesson. She felt the recoil of the fired revolver in her hands.  
  
The lights in Toni Bridges' room flickered once and then went out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Banksy https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Banksy
> 
> 2\. Georgia, nurse that visits Ives' once a month to see how things are.
> 
> 3\. No idea if Becky Ives is older than Terry Ives in the canon. But dutiful but frustrated elder sister kinda fits.
> 
> 4\. 'Last Saturday' - 15th Dec 1984 - Snowball at Hawkins Middle School
> 
> 5\. Dean Firmly. Appears in Chapter 9 Jim Hopper ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/14489388/chapters/35870352 )
> 
> 6\. Inspiration: Scanners, Perfect Day - Lou Reed


	18. Kali Prasad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Either: 
> 
> Kali learns about the past history of mind-control work at Hawkins and the plans of Brenner and Read.
> 
> Or: 
> 
> Kali learns about the secret of the Ives' family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Please excuse poor grammar. Solecism.
> 
> 2\. Includes my fanciful version of how Kali escaped from Hawkins Lab.
> 
> 3\. NSFW. Adult themes. Violence. Swearing. Sex.
> 
> 4\. { kali storyline } (Chap 3 ) / { hargrove storyline } ( Chap 2, 7, 13, 16 ) /  
>  { mystery intruder storyline } ( Chap 1, 5 , 10 )

“ _Vengeance and retribution require a long time; it is the rule._ ” ― Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities  
  
**17th Monday December 1984**  
  
**Kali Prasad's hideout, somewhere less salubrious and less spacious than their former digs in S2, Ep7, Chicago**  
  
"Mick? Whatcha' doin' outta bed?" said Kali immediately waking up as Mick pulled out of their shared spooning on the double bed they shared. The loss of their primary hideout to the Chicago finest still irked Kali. Losing a large amount of her research on the whereabouts of former personnel of the Hawkins National Laboratory was bad enough. Their new base of operations, on the top floor of a former asbestos factory, was always chilly and worst much smaller in size. Kali felt strange being able to stand on a table and touch the corrugated asbestos roof with her hand.  
  
Kali rolled over and propped herself up on the bed. The cold winter night brought instant goose pimples to her skin, she quickly pulled the mess of blankets up over her nakedness. She watched appreciatively the wiggle of Mick's sweetly formed buttocks as her part-time lover walked away and the sensuous movement of her slender body as she pulled on a hairy knitted jumper.  
  
"Come back to bed. It's damn cold without your sweet bod."  
  
"I can't help thinking that you're wrong to not try contacting your parents," said Mick, picking up an empty milk carton and looking at the side by side picture of Prisha Prasads, a photograph of an eight-year old  girl and an artist's impression of the same girl aged by twelve years to adulthood. " I mean they've even put your face on milk cartons now."  
  
"That doesn't even look like me!"  
  
"Perhaps not exactly, the hair, no make-up but there's enough likeness to make people do a double-take if they see you in real-life."  
  
Kali shook her head, "That's like a whole different person. That picture is not me at all."  
  
Mick gave Kali a shrewd look, and asked, " Is that the reason then? That if your parents see you as you are now, they wouldn't understand and reject you, or worst, try to change you to something they've dreamt of?"  
  
"God! No!" replied Kali, " As I told the others, we're outlaws. We are wanted criminals in America. Don't you think the authorities wouldn't be far behind to take me into custody if I try to contact these people? Unlike you, normals, my fate will be worst than prison."  
  
Mick wrinkled at her face at Kali's disparaging use of the word 'normals'. "You're normal, too."  
  
"I'm not! Don't ruin the mood by arguing. Please I want you! Come back to bed."  
  
"For people who are not your parents, they do share your looks," said Mick, inspecting the picture of the Prasads under an incandescent lamp." I can see the eyes and nose from your mother. The cheekbones and lips from your father. Have you even looked at this picture of them."  
  
"Argh! There's like millions, billions of South Asians in the world. I'm sure it wasn't hard to find a middle-aged man and woman who look similar to me."  
  
Mick frowned at the obvious flaw in Kali's argument but said instead,"All the police know is that you tried to kill Ray Carroll. A lowly orderly at an obscure research facility. That won't get you onto the FBI wanted list! This nationwide campaign for you is on the radio, in the newspapers, even television I've heard. This is something else entirely. “  
  
"Of course it is! It's the Department of Energy's doing! This new Director of the Project, Doctor Read has, I don't know, brought new ideas to the Department. This is her twisted idea of flushing me out. It's so obviously a trap. Don't forget I've killed five people. I'm a serial killer like, umm, Ted Bundy! The Department of Energy know what I've done and what I'm going to do. Maybe they told law enforcement, or the police themselves have worked it out now."  
  
"Yes, that you're a dangerous killer. But you're my dangerous killer," said Mick. Kali smiled at the compliment. Then Mick added, "But why spend all this effort and money on locating you in this way. And absolutely nothing on Jane?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"The money they're offering has gone up to 7500 dollars. That's a load of dough, as you Brits would say."  
  
"Come back to bed," said Kali huskily. She let the blankets fall, hoping the view of her naked body would entice Mick.  
  
"The others have been talking about nothing else when you're out of earshot. Not even this Doctor Philips and her fabulous house in Door County has changed the topic of conversation much. "  
  
"Argh! What do I need to do? For some sweet loving with you."  
  
"That's one cheesy line," said Mick shortly. "I just want to talk for the moment. I just don't understand how you can not want to know if these people are really your mother and father. If it were me, I would want to know. They didn't you abandon you in a supermarket trolley. You had parents that wanted you. Just that you were snatched from your bedroom in your house in London, in England! You said before your family were poor when you were young. Now your folks are rich! Rich enough and desperate enough to search for you in another country. You have a family that want you back!”  
  
Kali shrugged nonchalantly. To change the topic she asked," What are the others saying?"  
  
"Dottie's trying to come up with a way of getting the reward money without you showing up. Axel is his usual thuggie self, thinking of how he could mug these people for their valuables. Funshine not said much. I think if he could he probably follow you back to England and be your butler."  
  
Kali laughed at the mental image of Funshine dressed up in a black suit and tails and attempting to speak in a posh English accent. "And you, Mick, would you follow me too?"  
  
Mick crossed to sit by Kali and held her part-time lover's hand. "We'll make it work somehow."  
  
She touched the butterfly pendant that rested on Kali’s décolletage and stroked the skin beside it and smiled. “My Christmas present looks good on you.”  
  
The former human test-subject of Hawkins National Laboratory smiled, leaned closer and kissed Mick, gently at first and then with greater urgency. Mick responded in kind, allowing Kali to slip eager fingers under her jumper, down past her mons pubis. Her own hands reciprocated; cupping Kali's breasts and smoothing soft hands down her back. Mick moaned as she felt her sex stroked and she leaned against Kali so that both fell back onto the bed.  
  
##  
  
Kali carefully slipped out of Mick's embrace, pulled on Mick's jumper, smiling as she breathed in the other woman's scent. She reached for a pill case on the side-table, and consumed a few Tylenols. She closed her eyes. The pain in her head seemed to recede a little.  
  
Kali quietly padded over to table where Mick had left the newspaper article showing the Prasads. She touched their photos, her figure following the curve of her mother's face. Her eyes glistened with tears.  
  
  
####  
  
  
**19th Wednesday December 1984**  
  
**Joanna Philips' home, Door County, Wisconsin**  
  
  
When Kali stepped out of the GMC Vandura van in the terracotta runner style courtyard and surveyed the grey shingled walled house of Doctor Philips' waterfront property, she again felt slightly annoyed that a fugitive memory remained elusive. It had been so since Mick drove the GMC Vandura van across the Sturgeon Bay Bridge. The white crossbeams of the Sturgeon Bay bridge as they skimmed past overhead felt familiar as if she travelled on Highway 42 before. During the journey  northwards, despite the snow-covered land on either side of the road, she could almost see the fields shorn of their grain crops, the grazing longhorns, the farmhouses in the distance amongst the russets and golds of the autumnal deciduous trees. There were moments, as they drove towards North Bay that Kali felt she could have taken the wheel and driven her gang towards the house of the Doctor Joanna Philips. The feeling was almost like as if she was returning to a place that she had fond memories of. That sensation made no sense at all. She dried swallowed a couple of Tylenols. She wanted no distractions. Not even the headache, of late a constant throb, sitting like a hideous toad on her brow, seemed to have ramped up in the pain stakes.  
  
  
They had arrived in Door County, Wisconsin, late on Tuesday night but had discovered to their surprise and dismay that a house-party was being held at the Philips' residence. Kali had been annoyed by Dottie's reconnaissance failure but the crazy curly haired girl had reasonably argued that aside from college kids what sort of grown-up would have a house party in the middle of the week. The road to the doctors' house had been full of cars, nose-to-tail. All the lights in the house were on. From afar she could see people in each of the rooms. All wearing some kind of fancy dress and mask. Stylised animal heads, grinning suns, sombre moons, crow-faced plague masks, exaggerated celebrity faces styled after Punch and Judy, bejewelled Venetian masks and simple black domino masks. Despite the cold, groups of people milling around in the courtyard, in fancy dress, laughing and conversing loudly. They had paid little heed as Kali and her gang walked up. Despite Axel's bravado that he would have no problems controlling a houseful of what he called, old-timers, Kali had noticed a couple of police cars parked near the gate of the courtyard. When a small group of guests all dressed as a policemen, or maybe they were even real police officers, stared hard at the punk Axel, Kali made the reluctant decision to backtrack and to check into a motel for the night. The next day when they returned during the daytime and tucked behind a screen of trees, they had watched trucks drive to and fro from the doctor's house, Kali guessed they were the clean-up crew to restore the house after the wild excesses of the night before. It wasn't till five thirty in the afternoon that the last truck left the house and Kali and her gang had waited a few more hours  before driving through the open gates of the Philips' property.  
  
Kali re-adjusted her macabrely grinning green mask over her face. She looked at her gang of masked reprobates and felt the familiar thrill of being the predator stalking unaware prey, of the start of the process of control over another living thing, of ultimately at the end being the self-appointed judge and executioner. She nodded at Mick, who reversed their van into the shadows, or as best she could, because all the lights in the house were on lighting up the courtyard in their warm yellow glow. She looked up at the three storied house and the familiarity of the lines and angles again gnawed at her.  Kali could see into the sparsely, the term she had read was minimalist, furnished rooms of the ground floor. She wondered briefly what the doctor was doing at this moment. Whatever plans she had, they’d have to be postponed indefinitely; Kali chuckled grimly at her own black humour.  
  
Funshine had gone ahead to force open the front doors. He stepped up onto the columned porch and paused. He poked the red double-doors with his crowbar. One of the doors swung open.  
  
"It's already open," he informed Kali.  
  
The gang slowly trooped into the hallway. The walls were painted white with faint grey tinge and the exposed floor boards bleached, as if they had been rescued from the beach after been scrubbed smooth by the sea, sand and sun. The exposed beams that run up the wall and across the ceiling were also bleached like driftwood. Running along the shelf, there were model sea gulls, empty glass bottles, lanterns and a model schooner with distressed yellow sails. Everything was spotlessly clean and arranged but to Kali, the furnishings were not the ones she expected to see. Too, it felt impersonal, as if the owner's touch and mark been deliberately erased. There was a faint smell of synthetic lemon, presumably thought Kali of the cleaning products used. The doors leading to other rooms or corridors were open, except for a door straight ahead. Kali waited in the hallway as the members of her gang checked the rooms with opened doors. They confirmed quietly that nobody was in them.  
  
"Go look for the usual, Dottie, " ordered Kali, " I'm sure the good doctor is the type to have a study maybe even a library and that sort of shit."  
  
"Yes! I bet lots of expensive stuff, too," added Dottie and bounded eagerly up the stairs.  
  
"Secure the other ground exits and keep watch, Funshine."  
  
The cutey bear mask of Funshine nodded and he walked away down the corridor  
  
Kali and Axel walked towards the closed door. It opened into a large living room, painted white. Floor to ceiling windows faced towards water; the pair could seeing the waning gibbous moon above the waters of the bay. In one corner, a large television sat atop a re-purposed sea-chest. Scavenged objects from the sea, hung on the wall, around a mirror with a seashell frame. In the centre of the room, long grey sofas with blue striped cushions and a white coffee table; on it lay a basketball mitten.  
  
"Cool!" said Axel, and popped the glove on, "Hmm, a bit tight!"  
  
At the north-east end of the living room, the corner of the house had been partly partitioned off. Kali could see a small grey timbered table and a pair of chairs. Behind the table, stood an old woman dressed in a white shirt and brown slacks. She was standing up and obviously waiting for them. She gave a warm smile when the saw the small woman in black and very tall man in ragged denim. That act a deviation from the script that Kali had envisaged in her mind’s eye added unease to the frustration of her unreliable memory. When the pair entered the adjunct room, Kali realised the floor to ceiling windows were were in fact French doors. One pair was slightly ajar, and she felt the draught of cold air from the bay. The doors bordered the corner room on three sides. With it being dark outside, it felt like they were in a mirrored room and that anyone outside would be able to witness everything occurring within the room. It made Kali uneasy that the subsequent events that would follow shortly would be in essence in full view of the outside world. It was only then that she thought that there could be shipping vessels on the waters beyond the windows. Unknown eyes privy to an event that should be hers alone, aside from the trusted few. She contemplated whether to move the interrogation to one of the rooms facing the courtyard. She glanced at the partition wall behind her. There was a simple plastic clock placed above a rowing boat oar. A set of framed drawings of tropical butterflies were hung underneath the oar. The brightly coloured insects seemed incongruous against the nautical leanings of the interior design of the house. She ignored Alex walking on, past her and took a closer look at butterflies. They were  meticulously rendered paintings of the flying insects. Kali adored butterflies;  these she felt she could lose herself, mesmerised by the  intricately patterned wings.  
  
Whack! Whack! Thud!  
  
Kali turned back to see Axel standing over the old woman. She was sprawled on the floor, her bony hands over her face.  
  
"What the fuck, Axel?! " Kali demanded, " Stop that!"  
  
" Just introducing myself to the good doctor, boss!" Axel grinned as grabbed the old woman by her shirt collar and roughly hauled her onto the chair opposite Kali. It was then Kali noticed that words had been written with a black Sharpie on the top: ‘7-12’, 'Read’, 'Brenner’ and ‘choice’. Seeing some of her thoughts made public she began to feel angry. She was used to being in control, being the dominant person in the room, of directing events and having a response to any road bumps that occurred.  
  
  
Kali removed her mask and sat in the other chair. She frowned at Doctor Joanna Philips. In spite of the overall feeling of deja vu, she had no recollection of the psychiatrist during her imprisonment at Hawkins National Laboratory. The old woman's white-grey hair was cut short. Little retainers in her ears. No make-up. Her face was bleeding from scratches where Axel had hit her across the face with the baseball mitten. A bruise was forming close to one eye. There was drops of blood on her white shirt. From the way the shirt was buttoned, Kali noted it was a boy's shirt. The woman was gaunt, her face pinched and her eyes sunken. Her skin almost transparent, revealing prominent veins and her underlying bones in her neck and hands. On the back of her left hand, Kali recognised a cannula held down by adhesive medical tape. The doctor reached into her mouth and wiggled her teeth with an index finger. In the other hand which Kali noticed visibly trembled, she grasped a white handkerchief, spotted with fresh blood.  
  
" I think your friend ruined my dentures," the doctor observed ruefully. The old woman's green eyes were bright and alert as she Kali's face intently.  In spite of being clubbed about the head by Axel and the obvious message that signified, unlike other men and women in her position who’ve been nonplussed and scared about the uninvited entry and casual violence of Kali and her gang into their homes, Doctor Joanna Philips seemed cheerful and glad to see them. Like she had been expecting them to visit, as if they were friends who she'd invited for a bite to eat and a chin wag.  
  
"He ruin more than that if you don't talk!" Kali retorted and continued, " You obviously know who we are! And why we're here! Is this some kind of trap with yourself as bait?! You know, you're trapped with us. You'll be the first to die if things go sideways."  
  
"You are Prisha Prasad, daughter of Suresh and Niti Prasad. A British national. You were extracted from London, England, at age eight and recruited into Project Lookfar at Hawkins National Laboratory, Indiana, United States of America. You escaped from the lab and disappeared from those interested in you for a number of years. Recently, you've started pursuing a vendetta against the ex-employees of Hawkins Lab, torturing and murdering indiscriminately. But your luck ran out  this year, just after Halloween. Now the authorities know who you are and what you are doing," replied Doctor Joanna Philips." And associate in punk regalia is Chester Franklin Mathers, youngest son of Harold and Ivanka Mathers. An American national. He comes from a military family who've served this great country for many generations. His great-grandfather and great-uncles fought in the First World War. His father and his brothers served in the Second World War. An uncle a pilot in the Korean War. His eldest brother was killed in Vietnam ..."  
  
Axel rushed forward and slapped his hands onto the table so hard that it juddered and Kali's green mask jumped and fell to the floor, " Shut the fuck up, bitch! Just shut up! Shut up or I'll kill you!!"  
  
Kali surprised by both Axel's background, something he never talked about and his evident anger at the raw nerve that the doctor had touched. She put a hand on his forearm and commanded, "Go help Dottie. The doctor is no threat to me."  
  
"That's very good. You did your homework on us. But knowing our backgrounds won’t help you. We're not those people any more, “ said Kali to Philips, “The scum I killed deserved to die. You all deserve to die. You had a choice to not work at Hawkins LAb. But you made the wrong decision when you accepted their blood money. I am the fatal consequence of your lack of ethics and morality.”  
  
" Summers, Grey, McCoy, Worthington and Drake. Nurses, janitor, receptionist and security guard. They had nothing to do with the research at Hawkins .... "  
  
"Don't make me laugh! You call want you did at Hawkins's 'research'?! It was plain fucking cruelty and sadism!" interrupted Kali “Don’t even think you can play Jesus to the lepers in my head!"  
  
She jabbed a finger against the written words on the table. “You’ve obviously been prepared by the Department of Energy. I ask the questions and you tell me what I want to know. Like, where the fuck is Brenner hiding? Where are the other doctors hiding? Then perhaps I'll be merciful and your death later tonight will less painful."  
  
“I never imagined you become so obsessed with death and killing, Prisha.”  
  
“I’m Kali. Not Prisha. Not Eight. You doctors made me what I am today!  Don’t think I know you are trying to stall; trying desperately to prolong your pathetic life.”  
  
Philips began to laugh which turned to a wheeze and Kali’s brow furrowed. She sat back away from the spittle coming out of the doctor's mouth.  
  
“Stop laughing. Or I'll smack you around.”  
  
“And run the risk of killing me? In my current state of physical decrepitude? I don't think so. But your earlier suspicion about this situation is correct. But I wanted to be bait because I wanted to talk to you."  
  
“What? Why?”  
  
“Just so you understand. This is not a deal or an exchange for my life. I wanted to see you now because this is an opportunity I'm offering you. A chance to cripple and perhaps end the Department of Energy's Lookfar project and maybe other associated mind-control projects once and for all."  
  
Kali stared at the doctor, momentarily speechless. This was not in her script for tonight at all.  
  
“You don't seem to understand the situation you're in now, doctor. You're not in charge. You don't come up with plans for me to follow like a mindless goon. I'm the one who's in charge now! And now I want answers, now!” demanded Kali,” Brenner’s alive isn't he? Where does he live.”  
  
Philips considered Kali.” Why do you think Martin Brenner wasn’t alive?”  
  
Kali kept her face neutral, hiding the realisation maybe she had taken Jane's version of events in Hawkins too much at face value.  
  
“Because I heard that this Doctor Everard Read is now Director.”  
  
  
"Ah yes, Doctor Read. I dare say disappearing a competitor wouldn't make her blink. I'll admit when I heard Doctor Owens had taken over at Hawkins last year I knew something was up with Martin .... "  
  
“You sound like you know Brenner well. Friends maybe? Lovers even?”  
  
The doctor laughed delightedly. “Such a vivid imagination you have. I knew his wife, Rebecca, a lovely woman. Unfortunately for Martin she was killed driving back from New York.  If I recall this happened before just before Seven escaped.”  
  
Kali snorted and gave Philips the one-finger salute. "That's how much I care about Brenner's dead wife."  
  
The old woman smiled, in Kali's view patronisingly, as if she were making allowances for Kali acting out of turn, further infuriating the former Hawkins test-subject.  
  
“Since you care so much, you must have been friends for a long time?” insisted Kali.  
  
"I knew Martin before we both worked at Hawkins. One of my ... ex-lovers moved in the same social circles as Martin. Obviously, given our qualifications in medicine, unusual for one of his background, we had something in common to talk about," said Philips."And before you ask me again. I don't know where he is living. Martin Brenner is Old Money. He has properties all over America. I recollect mentions of the Caribbean, South of France and Italy. You have your work cut out if you try to track him down mansion by mansion."  
  
Seeing Kali's furious face, she added, "But I can tell you where he's likely to be if you answer one question first.”  
  
“What?”  
  
"Have you contacted your parents?"  
  
“No,“ conceded Kali finally. ”What has that got to do with Brenner?”  
  
"Your parents never gave up looking for you. But they've been looking in the wrong places. India. The diaspora in Africa and England. It seems Brenner contacted them through an intermediary. Told them that in fact you were taken to America and that you were still alive."  
  
Kali's heart skipped a beat. "So they're my real parents?" asked Kali softly.  
  
The doctor nodded.  
  
Kali closed her eyes and suppressed the urge to leave, to go find Momma and Papa. Saying those words made the corner of her eyes damp. She reminded herself that Brenner was still alive. Nothing else mattered. Even being reunited with her biological parents. She clamped down hard on the dream of her parents wanting her back to be a whole family again. Of the beguiling fantasy that she could be Prisha Prasad, a second generation Indian girl. Such feelings could weaken her. Slowly she felt the hard, unfeeling woman was Kali come back. She opened her eyes and saw the old woman looking at her intently. Kali licked her lips and asked, " Why has Brenner done this?"  
  
"Brenner's sole interest, obsession now, is Eleven. He wants her back under his control. You're of no interest to him, " said the old doctor," Martin has always thought himself a scholar of men's motivations and actions. He sees your vendetta against former employees of Hawkins as someone looking for meaning in life, lost their way in life, indulging in self-destructive behaviour. What you’re doing will ultimately end very badly one day. Unlike the other girls taken after you in Project Lookfar, you were taken as young child, not like them, as a baby or a toddler. You can still remember your parents. You remember once being a normal girl in a normal home. He reckoned you would want to be reunited with them, to go back to England, to have a chance of a normal life albeit now a very wealthy one. Eleven would have have to remain here in America. He thought it would be very likely she’d go back to somewhere familiar, back to Hawkins, Indiana."  
  
Suddenly Kali felt queasy as she realised if Brenner was already in Hawkins, maybe Jane already had located him with her talents. That perhaps her vengeance had been taken taken away from her without her knowing about it. Jane and herself had not exactly left on with hugs and kisses, exchanged phone numbers with promises to stay in touch. After all, when it came down to a choice between assuaging her own loss and her own suffering with the righteousness path of blood-letting and violence or saving the lives of normals, pathetic ones at that, nerds; Jane had inexplicably chosen the latter. Kali had brooded for long hours at her failure to recruit 'one of her own' from the Project but had mostly ruminating on the variety of ways she could persuade Jane to come back and fulfil her destiny alongside Kali.  
  
  
"You've still not answered my question from before. You surely must be close to Brenner if he told you about this plan of his to separate Eleven and myself."  
  
"We were working colleagues back in the day. After I had to give up work because of my health, we lost touch. After his wife died, Martin stopped socialising and he threw himself into his work. So it was very much out of the blue when he contacted me last week. He told me about his plan and .... well, he knew that you liked me when we were at Hawkins and asked if we meet again that I try to convince you to contact your parents."  
  
Kali felt the doctor was holding something back about. For instance, how would Brenner know Kali would pay Philips a visit. If she was lying about the closeness of their relationship that could easily be verified she reasoned once Dottie and Axel found her address book or rolodex.  
  
"And you're not doing a good job at persuading me, are you?"  
  
"You're the only girl from Lookfar here, right?"  
  
"I ask the questions! You said girls in Project Lookfar. There were no boys?"  
  
"Yes. No males. Six female subjects - seven to twelve - were recruited for Project Lookfar. They ...."  
  
"What about one to six?"  
  
A flash of irritation at being interrupted crossed Philips' face but she said calmly. "Subjects one to six were part of the first cohort study. It was ostensibly a collaboration between the military and the Department of Energy. In reality, the military were the lead investigators and Project Hawkeye as it was codenamed, based at Fort Cleaver, Utah. When that study finished, shall we say, with mixed results, the military opted out. The Department of Energy became lead in the second study, Project Lookfar. The military merely an interested observer. At the beginning Project Lookfar was based at Hawkins, Indiana. I was employed there as a psychiatrist..."  
  
" What do you mean finished? Mixed results? That the children from the first study are all dead?! "  
  
" Aside from One, the others in the first cohort study, Project Hawkeye, were inducted as young adults or older. I was told that Three was near forty when he died. Both men and women were recruited. I was there at end of Project Hawkeye in 1966. I was part of the team to assess One after he gone rogue. His actions had destroyed Fort Cleaver and caused the deaths of Three and Five, who managed to stop him.  Considering One's actions, Martin Brenner's proposal to limit recruitment to those who were female and very young was accepted by the steering committee at the Department of Energy. Based on the idea that females are more compliant and submissive...."  
  
Kali laughed at the last statement and the old woman allowed herself a smile.  
  
"So, One and the others, Two, Four and Six are still alive. Where are they?"  
  
"By the time I was asked to look at One, Two was long dead. Six had disappeared, along with the director of Hawkeye. Four was alive but I never met her. I suppose the military have them. I don't know where there are. Or even if they're still alive today."  
  
“How do you mean ‘disappeared’. ?”  
  
“From what I heard Six and Doctor Angier fell afoul of one Six’s own inventions.”  
  
"What sort of power is 'inventing'?!"  
  
"It's what I heard,” shrugged Philips. ”Six was able to construct tools and machines from essentially scrap. The term I heard used was 'idiot savant inventor' because apparently Six left high school with no qualifications. Doctor Angier managed to convince his superiors to allow one of Six's machines to be tested on a pair of Department of Energy's agents. The machine worked. It made multiple copies of the Agent Frazier and the Lead Agent. Pragmatic as always the Department assigned the copies to different sites around the country. But they were all separate individuals. It can be a little disorientating at first when seeing the same person at a different site and expecting that person to recall a conversation you had with their copy based elsewhere."  
  
"Frazier. Blonde woman? She frightened me when I was a kid at Hawkins. There's multiple copies of that bitch running around? Shit! " replied Kali, "If you spoke with One, you saw his file, right? Know his real name and you’d know what he was capable of?"  
  
  
"Charles Wallace. That was his real name but when we talked to him in '66, he preferred to be called by the designation 'One'. Aside from the official report on his capabilities, he himself claimed many extraordinary things he done and could do. Officially One could render himself and others to disappear and reappear in the blink of an eye . He could move himself and objects as large as a Navy destroyer across vast distances. He said he had travelled to other realities, other worlds. He claimed to have gone one Earth in the throes of nuclear winter and another Earth where all the major coastal cities had been submerged by rising seas. He even claimed he could move back and forth through time. But by the time I spoke with him, he had been drugged to dampen his abilities and was still recovering from his injuries he had sustained after his fight with Three and Five and rest of the armed forces”.  
  
“So much power. He must have been like a god.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Hah! Don’t tell me. I can tell by that tone. After you analysed him, in your professional opinion he was a nutcase, right?”  
  
Philips said carefully. “Once One's powers manifested in a very dramatic way, he was taken away from his family. The rest of One's life was spent institutionalised, quite often sedated and if not, used as an experimental guinea-pig. He escaped many times. During one of his escapes, he killed the rest of his family. We suspected it was a very literal way of cutting ties. When we spoke with him, he claimed no allegiance to any one, any belief or any cause, in spite of, I suspect the efforts of the military to engender One with patriotism. The evidence suggested they failed. After all he was trying to detonate a nuclear warhead inside the laboratories of Fort Cleaver. A place that he hated."  
  
Kali felt a connection with One. She knew that here was an individual who would commit to her crusade of cleansing, of purging the world of those who harm her and her kindred.  
  
“The research directors of the Lookfar. Would they know where he's being imprisoned?” asked Kali.  
  
"I suppose their security clearance is high enough if they wanted to know," said Philips. Her eyes narrowed as she guessed Kali's interest." You wouldn't be able to control him even if you managed to recruit him. He didn't care about the other members of Hawkeye, especially after two of them managed he stop him. "  
  
Kali thought otherwise and asked instead."You said Brenner was working in Project MKUltra at the time. He was never involved with  Project Hawkeye?"  
  
"That’s correct. Because of his successful work with MKUltra he was offered the position of Research Director of Project Lookfar. At the start he was in charge of the all the test subjects...."  
  
"But what happened?" interrupted Kali, amused at the irritation that it caused the old woman when she did so.  
  
"You could say that Project Lookfar had a run of bad luck. Seven. She drowned in the isolation tank. They changed the designs and protocols after that incident. You escaped. Security was reviewed and procedures tightened after you ran away, " said Philips. "The steering committee at the Department of Energy then decided that the project should be jointly run. Doctor Everard Read was promoted and she took over the experimental testing and training of Nine and Ten. Jane's twin, Twelve was already at..."  
  
"Wait a moment! Jane has a twin?! "  
  
Philips frowned at Kali and then realised the significance of her question. " Oh, you didn't know? Yes, Jane has a twin sister, Twelve. "  
  
Kali shook her head disbelieving. “ That can’t be. Jane never mentioned a sister, let alone a twin.”  
  
"Huh, Jane didn't know too? Interesting, "said Doctor Philips. "Their mother, Terry Ivers was habitual user of psychedelic drugs - LSD particularly - when Brenner recruited her for Project Montauk; the testing of young adults for latent psychic abilities. She became one of Martin's favourites because her nascent abilities developed remarkably during that period of study. But there was cost. Her perception of reality became permanently skewed. Even though she was carrying twins, she became fixated during pregnancy that she was only carrying a single child. I'm afraid Martin encouraged that delusion, all the medical doctors she consulted were following his orders. I heard during the court case Terry Ivers managed to keep away from drugs but she was firmly convinced that she only had one child. What happened to her was very sad really. "  
  
"So Twelve has the same abilities as Eleven?"  
  
  
"I don't know. They were not identical twins. Well before the girls were born Everard Read had persuaded the steering committee that they should separated at birth despite Martin's protestations, they agreed. Read took Twelve to Witten which became the second base of operations for Lookfar. However, I do know that Read was disappointed with Twelve especially when Martin reported early indications that Jane was developing into something special. After you escaped, Nine and Ten were transferred to Read's custody. Brenner was left with Jane. I left Hawkins soon after. My health had begun to take a turn for the worst, " said Philips. " But in 1982, Read relocated to Millikan National Research Laboratory, not far from here. I know she brought Nine and Ten with her but not Twelve. I later heard a fire had occurred at Witten before Read moved to Door County. Twelve was a casualty of that fire.”  
  
"Doctor Read told you, " guessed Kali.  
  
"Yes, she confirmed my suspicion when she visited me and brought Nine and Ten with her."  
  
"When? Did they come here?"  
  
"No..," began Doctor Joanna Philips and looked up as Dottie and Axel stomped into the room.  
  
"What the hell is this?!" Dottie demanded as she threw a single onto the table. "You have nothing of value in this fucking house. Except for some trinkets by your nightstand. You got have box with a hundreds of singles, this record, by your bed! Where have you stashed your wealth, or Axel will beat it out of you!!!"  
  
Kali looked at the single cover. It read 'Do They Know It's Christmas'. " You sent to this Ann Summers. Why?"  
  
"I'm a dead woman walking. Back in the Seventies, I had surgery. The blood used during the operation was contaminated. In short, I became infected shall we say with the virus of the decade. The earliest symptoms of the incurable disease started to manifest when I was working at Hawkins. I thought by leaving work I would increase my chances of beating this disease. I was wrong. Despite, the best efforts of doctors, I'm slowly but surely on the way to my final destination. So I have been settling my affairs."  
  
  
Philips indicated the record. " I heard British bands had co-written a pop song about the devastating famine in Ethiopia. On a whim, I brought a thousand before Christmas and had them shipped here. I like the song. The moment Bono comes in with that line '....thank God it's them....' is heartbreaking..."  
  
  
Dottie had backed away till she reached the half-ajar French doors. "Fuck! You're a crazy woman! I heard you losers were contagious! But crazy too?! What a waste of money!"  
   
Philips ignored Dottie, glanced at the clock and turned back to Kali who had also shifted her chair back away from the old woman. "You know about the closure of Hawkins Lab?"  
  
Kali nodded.  
  
"The research files were brought to the Millikan Lab, Read's base of operations. Part of her plan to consolidate her control over the Department of Energy's mind control projects. I believe all the records pertaining to Lookfar and Montauk are there now. They represent an opportunity for a resourceful team, shall we say, to liberate and disseminate to the world at large."  
  
"That's your great plan?! For me to break into a government installation and steal filing cabinets and then show them to the Press?"  
  
"Hawkins Lab was forced to close because of newspaper reports that a chemical leak from their site killed a local girl. I'm sure there are journalists out there who'd be able to take that information you liberate and use it to effectively stop the Department of Energy's work," said Philips, " And you escaped from a government installation when you were eleven years old. Breaking in is just the reverse."  
  
  
Kali frowned at Philips' words about escaping from Hawkins Lab. She had never been able to recall any details aside from the feeling of elation when she had stepped into the woodlands around the Lab.  
  
"Um, Kali .... " called Dottie, she had turned around and opened the French doors wider.  
  
Kali ignored Dottie and asked the old doctor. " I don't understand, why do you want Project Lookfar and Project Montauk to be stopped? Have you grown a conscience? "  
  
" After Read found out that Eleven and you were alive from Ray Carroll and discovered your vendetta against former employees of Hawkins, she came up with a plan to capture you both. It wasn't a stretch to see that you were desperate to find a major scalp, one of the executive doctors. She came to me because I'm good as dead, suggesting I distribute my address to former employees in the hope, based on your gang's previous conduct, that my details would attract your attention and you take the bait. It was a gamble I grant you but her interest in you coincided with my own. You have walked into Read's trap. You don't have much time now. Read was expecting Eleven to be with you and she's prepared for that scenario. The military are coming for you. The soldiers have orders to capture you alive. But I'm afraid Mister Mathers and Miss Carter her don't have such protection."  
  
"Fuck, Kali we got to get out of here!" screamed Axel.  
  
Kali cursed inwardly. She had made a critical mistake in not pressing the old woman much earlier about the exact details of a trap that she had been willing to sacrifice herself as bait. With a sinking feeling Kali acknowledged that her previous successes had been against ignorant local law enforcement. The easy successes had fed her hubris and the belief she was capable of extricating herself from any situation. Against men with high-powered weaponry and briefed about her powers, she felt for the first time the cold touch of fear.  
  
"Kali, what are we going to do?!" demanded Axel, he was pacing the room like a caged animal.  
  
Philips pointed at the baseball mitten on Axel's hand. " Mister Mathers! The inside of that glove is laced with a systematic poison that is readily absorbed through the skin. Very shortly, or, if you've not been shot by the soldiers and your constitution turns out to be strong , later tonight, you will begin to go numb as the poison slowly paralyses you. Your muscles will stop working. You will pee yourself and shit your pants. Depending on your luck, your intercostals and diaphragm will stop working and you will slowly suffocate to death. Or maybe your heart stops first ..."  
  
"What the fuck? You're fucking poisoned me? There's no .... no cure for it? "  
  
"No antidote, I'm afraid. It's why I used it."  
  
"Kali, help?! Fuck! Fuck! " Axel whipped off the baseball mitten and stared at his hand that had gone inflamed red. " Fuck you, bitch! "  
  
Kali surprised and confused. " What? Why?"  
  
Philips quickly glanced at Kali but directed her words at the frantic Axel who was flapping his swollen hand as if the poison on it could shaken off. "I expected Eleven and Kali to be questioning me tonight. The mitten with the poison was intended for Kali to wear and use ... on me. "  
  
"What?! " cried Kali.  
  
"Fuck you! You're dead!! " Axel grabbed from the boat oar from the wall behind the doctor, and stepped forward to line up a swing at the old doctor's head.  
  
"Kali! Can you hear that?" Dottie cried urgently, she had pulled the previously ajar French doors wide open and pointed out towards the bay. A distant, regular 'whump whump' sound. The unmistakable calling card of a helicopter. But her attention when drawn back to Doctor Joanna Philips' when she heard the woman's voice clearly inside her head. " Forgive me, sister."  
  
Kali's eyes widen at the sight of blood trickling steadily from both nostrils of doctor's nose and from her ears.  
  
She began to stand up. "Axel! Stop!"  
  
Kali felt like her face had been plunged into cold water. The surface of water hissing and boiling away into wreaths of steam as if her face was molten iron and was being quenched. The white smoke blocked her vision for a moment. When it dissipated she found herself not in the side-room off the main living room in Doctor Joanna Philips' house in Door County.  
  
She was standing in a vault-like room, painted uniformly in military grey. Kali recalled it was the Hawkins sensory deprivation tank room before it was renovated.  A square tank of water, over ten feet high, sat in the middle of the room. From ceiling, a steel pipe ran to the top of the tank. A second pipe was affixed to the bottom. Both had large pipe valves. Two sets of ladder were fixed on both sides of the tank. The front and back of the water tank were unobstructed allowing observers to see through into the water.  A bank of lights were pressed against the glass on each corner of the tank, illuminating with great clarity the current occupant, a teenage girl with short red hair sitting Indian style on the bottom of the tank. She was in a scuba diving suit. Multiple cables ran from the full face scuba-mask to the surface of the water. Underneath the helmet, she was wearing telephone operator headset on her head, the microphone close to her mouth. Kali saw the tell-tale nosebleed and girl also seemed to bleeding from her ears too. Her eyes were closed.  
  
There were mostly men in the room. The majority were wearing white laboratory coats, including Brenner. She saw the executive doctors: Frost, Crowe and Gorman, in a group on the observation balcony. There were two men in military uniform, one Army and the other Navy. And half-a-dozen men in black suits, one of whom Kali recognised as the Lead Agent. There were only three adult women in the room, not including herself. Connie Frazier. A blonde nurse; somehow she knew her name was Rachel Green. A younger version of Doctor Joanna Philips, perhaps middle-aged.  
  
Kali looked down at herself. She was dressed in her usual black; the same clothes she was wearing when talking to Philips a few moments ago. She reached over to touch Philips; her hand passed through without resistance. The doctor walked over to the nurse and Kali felt like she was being pulled along. She found herself accepting that it was part of the logic of whatever this was. She was a passenger in Philips’ memories. After all, it was the doctor's point of view.  
  
"Take it slow, Seven. Take it easy. Remember the way you came," Brenner's voice came loud over the loudspeakers. Kali caught snatches of conversation from the men in Army and Navy uniform. They seemed excited by whatever information Seven had provided.  
  
"Doctor Brenner! Her heart rate and respiratory rate have just shot up!" one of the scientists urgently called.  
  
"She's back already? That can't it be! " frowned Brenner. He hurried towards the scientist who was monitoring Seven's vitals.  
  
Kali saw the eyelids of the teenage girl suddenly open. The whites of her eyes were bloodshot; blood dribbled freely down her cheeks from both eyes. She looked around at her surroundings in bewilderment. She struggled awkwardly to her feet but slipped. The clank of the scuba mask against the floor of the tank sounded dully through room then a delayed grunt of pain from the girl through the loudspeakers. She unsteadily got to feet and began to walk in a circle at the bottom of the tank. Her hands clawing futilely at the full-face scuba mask helmet on her head. Then Kali heard a screams of terror issue from the loudspeakers by the tank. The girl had reached one side of the tank and her hands slapped against the glass wall. "Help me! I can't see! I’m blind!” Kali saw bright red blood splatter from the girl's mouth against the bottom of the scuba mask. It occurred to Kali that Seven really must have pushed herself.  
  
"Fuck, she's getting the lines tangled! Loosen the lines!" Kali couldn't tell who made that advisement.  
  
"Get her out!" ordered Brenner.  
  
The black suited agents began to climb the ladders on either of the tank. Another group began to unfurl the cables running into the isolation tank.  
  
Bang! Bang! The girl in the tank was banging against the glass wall of the tank with her mask.  
  
"Seven! Stop that! Men are coming for you! You'll be fine! Promise! " said Brenner, his voice uncharacteristically urgent. "Hurry up."  
  
It was then Kali realised the hole cut into the top of the tank was too small for the burly agents. They called to Connie Frasier to climb up to the top of the tank.  
  
"Let the water out!" A voice suggested.  
  
Kali scanned the room. The scientists were standing around looking on helplessly. Brenner was arguing with the Lead agent about the risk of firing a bullet at the glass tank; the consequence of a ricocheting bullet hitting someone in the room and the resultant surge of water from the broken tank ruining the high tech equipment close to it. The pair of military men had moved back and were looking concerned. Standing next to them was blonde woman in a flowing dress typical of the Seventies, cut to show off her slender legs in heels. Kali remembered  she was Doctor Everard Read. She was looking at chaos in front of her with a smug, satisfied expression on her face. Kali looked down. Rachel Green had collapsed to her knees. Joanna Philips was kneeling by the nurse holding her head in her hands. The nurse’s wide eyes were darting back and forth at the men in lab coats. Her breathes audibly coming in gulps. Philips' mouth was close to the nurse's left ear, whispering, Kali assumed, words of comfort and reassurance.  
  
The loudspeaker spewed a stream of choking and gurgling sounds. Kali turned back to the panicking teenage girl in the tank. Her scuba mask helmet had cracked at the top, water was gushing into the helmet and it had already risen past her nose. She was walking weakly around in a circle inside the tank.  A furious stream of bubbles from one of the lines indicated that it had cracked open, likely from the considerable torque generated by the girl's circling. Then she stopped moving completely and floated up slightly, spinning lazily as her limp body rotated as the lines untwisted themselves. Kali saw the mask had completely submerged in bloody water. Blood rose in a spreading plume from the cracked diving helmet. There was a splash. A moment later Connie Frasier in her underwear dropped down next to the spinning teenage girl, grasped her around the chest and pushed up towards the hole.  
  
Brenner had begun climbing the ladder on the left hand side when there was a loud sharp snapping sound and the half-a-dozen agents standing on the lid of tank, fell into the water. The cumulative scrum of several hundred pounds of American masculinity dislodged the teenage girl from the female agent's arms. The body of the teenage girl fell to the bottom of the tank. The impact of the helmet against the bottom of the tank caused it to shatter completely, the shards cutting into the girl's face. The water turned murky with thrashing feet and angry screams of Brenner." Get Seven out!" The displacement of water surged over the top of the tank, and onto scientific equipment closest to the tank. With crackle and bangs with attendant ascending acrid smell of burning plastic and metal indicated the loss of soaked equipment.  
  
Kali grinned appreciating the dark comedy of errors unfolding in front of her. She glanced down at Philips wondering why the doctor's undivided attention was to a nobody and not to Seven. Kali crouched down. Philips was still holding the nurse's face in her hands and whispering urgently to her. "You've done it, Penny. You’re done it. They don’t know you’re Penny!” The nurse had calmed down. She nurse gave a shy smile to Philips. Kali stared at the face of Rachel Green and felt a chill run through her. While she had not been as close to Seven like she had been with Nine she had known her well enough that the teenage girl was now somehow in the body of a young woman in her twenties. She recalled what Ann Summers had mentioned the nurse that had witnessed Seven drowning had resigned and left Hawkins shortly afterwards.  
  
  
She began to turn to Philips to ask where Seven-Rachel-Green-Penny had escaped to. But the scene cut away, very much like a transition between scenes in a science fiction movie she had once sneaked into the cinema to see. Something about white people in spaceships blowing up planets. Not her cup of tea but and darkness of the cinema theatre was a natural environment for a heavy petting session. A blink later. They were in a small rectangular room. A room in Hawkins National Laboratory. She was sitting opposite a young South Asian child of maybe eleven years old, wearing a hospital gown. The child was looking down at picture of butterfly.  The picture were very detailed. The tracery of faint veins, diverging and converging to junctions of spots, branching like a pattern across the wing amongst the scarlet and black.  
  
"This butterfly is a Red Peacock. 'Anartia amathea'. It lives in the Amazon rainforest and unlike the previous butterfly, this one feeds on nectar." said Doctor Joanna Philips.  
  
"It's so pretty," said the girl and started to run an index finger along the wing following a path of a vein. With a start, Kali recognised herself.  
  
"What does the picture tell you?"  
  
The girl looked up at the doctor, her brow wrinkling at the strange question. She sat back and picked up the picture with both hands. She pushed out the tip of her tongue out of mouth as she concentrated on Philips’ question with regard to the picture.  
  
"Maybe one day, you've be able to go to Brazil and these wonderful insects yourself, " said the doctor after several minutes of silent concentration from her young charge.  
  
The outrageousness and seeming impossibility of such a flight of fancy made the eleven year old Kali laugh. The grown-up Kali was hit with a pang of sadness that it was a bitter laugh of adult awareness of the reality of her situation, imprisoned against her will inside Hawkins Lab. She recalled looking forward to the weekly meetings with the Philips. The doctor would show her an assortment of black ink blobs or pictures from the outside world and asked her what she thought or what story could be derived from them. Philips didn't give her tablets that made her nauseous or woozy. She didn't manhandle her to forcibly inject with her drugs or hook up to itchy pads and tell her repeatedly to do things over and over and over. Of all the adults there she was interested in what she thought, of her opinions.  
  
"What does the picture tell you?" repeated the doctor.  
  
The young Kali looked back at the wings of the butterfly. She fancied a row of spots could be rooms and noticed the paths the veins traced tended towards angularity and not all curved. The way the paths branched and turned seemed very familiar. The way the arranged spots and lines seemed to match her immediate surroundings outside the room they were in. She felt a glimmer of excitement as her eyes went along the lines and spots beyond the the small area she knew well and understood what the odd green mark by the lines meant.  
  
Kali gasped, both the young girl and the adult. The pictures of the butterflies were maps, the wing veins and junctures delineating an escape route from her cell to the outside.  
  
Philips gave her a secret smile at her epiphany and instructed. "Memorise."  
  
And then Kali’s memories rushed back. The orderly who 'absent-mindedly' left the door open to Kali's cell after her routine beating. The green swallowtail map that was the path through the woods outside of Hawkins Lab to Benny's Burgers and her hiding underneath a convenient tarpaulin in the back of the owners' pickup truck. Her falling asleep and then startled to wakefulness, her face against the doctor's shoulder as they together sat in the back of a van. Of finding herself being driven on back-roads through Illinois and Wisconsin to Philips's house on North Bay coast in Door County. The doctor showing Kali the secret warren of passageways and rooms under the house that the doctor claimed were made by bloodthirsty pirates and smugglers. And the day of her own sudden migraine as Philips drove Kali to meet her foster family in Iowa and forgetting the help she had escaping from the Hawkins National Laboratory.  
  
The migraine that afflicted the young Kali also affected the adult Kali. It flared sharply causing Kali to wince in pain. When her eyes fluttered open she found herself in a different room. The long window to her right showed the skyline of Chicago from a vantage point of several floors up. A clock with a date feature told her it was '1st December'. She instantly recognized the scent and the beeps and slurp and whirl of internal mechanisms working ceaselessly. There was an intravenous stand and infusion pump dispensing measured dosage of drugs to the person covered in a blanket sitting in the armchair. On a small table, in a glass of water sat a full set of dentures. It took Kali a long moment to recognise Doctor Joanna Philips. She was still as stone. The old woman’s face slack and her mouth hung open, spittle pooling onto the lapel of white shirt she was wearing. Without the vitality of wakefulness, it seemed the doctor had reduced in size to that of a child. Her white wrinkled skin barely concealed the withered body’s machinery underneath; all blue veins and protruding bone shorn of much muscle and fat. For Kali it represented a horrible glimpse of a future of gradual decline she rather not endure.  
  
To her left, behind the un-shuttered interior window Kali heard raised voices. She saw a Hispanic nurse backing away rapidly from from a tall blonde woman, with two younger girls in tow. The girls were in matching brown jackets. A lithe blonde teenager and a younger, smaller Asian girl. Kali stared unblinkingly at blonde girl. She felt a lump form in her throat. It was Nine.  
  
“Nurse .... Hernandez is it? If you don’t move away from that door, I’m going to inform Immigration right here, right now,” threatened the blonde woman prodding the smaller woman with her brick-like cell phone. It was Read.  
  
“Okay, okay.... but I’m going to tell the head nurse.”  
  
“Go ahead but I'm sure Immigration would be very interested in the majority of staff employed here. You wouldn’t want to bear that responsibility for any deportations, would you?"  
  
Nurse Hernandez put her head down and looked apologetically through the interior window towards the sleeping old woman as she walked past Read and the her two young charges. Then the door opened and the three entered the room. Read walked straight into and through Kali, who felt nothing though her brain accustomed to normal physical laws of matter muttered grumpily about the change in the natural order. Kali took a place next to the seated Joanna Philips, surprised to feel that she felt protective about the helpless old woman.  
  
Doctor Read in her azurite-blue power suit and matching pumps regarded the old woman sleeping in the chair in front of her. Nine and presumably Ten stood a few paces behind. They were dressed identically. Brown jackets, white blouse with orange ribbon and brown skirt with a hanging orange belt. Looking at the insignia on the top pocket of their jackets, a shield of half orange and brown, with the words 'nil nisi malis terrori' she realised with incredulity they were dressed as private school girls. She felt odd, felt dirty, like a voyeur, as she greedily took in Nine's features without the other person knowing.  
  
"Good morning, Everard, " mumbled Philips, her voice sounding strange without her dentures and making Kali jump in surprise as she had been certain the doctor was asleep, " Would you be a dear and hand me that glass."  
  
Kali got the impression that this was the first time in many years that someone had the temerity to ask Read to do such a menial task as moving a glass of water, albeit with a set of grinning teeth inside, from one point to the next. After an awkward moment, with her elegant features screwed with distaste, she held the glass while Philips maneuvered the dentures into her toothless mouth. Nine and Ten were watching Philips with interest, Ten's eyes were round as Philips' wiggled and waggled her jaw to settle the fit of her fake teeth.  
  
"You brought visitors! Who are these smartly dressed young women?" said Philips, flicking a bony finger at Nine and Ten, "Good morning, Nine. Good morning, Ten. And where's Twelve?"  
  
Nine inclined her head replying politely, " Good morning, ma'am." Ten mouthed something indistinct as she continued staring with wide-eyed fascination at Philips.  
  
"Twelve's long dead, Doctor Philips," said Read bluntly. " This is not a social visit. Nor to enquire about the state of your failing health. I'm hoping you are strong enough to listen to my proposal. It concerns a matter of National Security and despite your present travails you represent the best candidate."  
  
"It's been a while since a Research Director from the Project has to come to ask me to do something for my country," said Philips smoothly. "These drugs do make me very fatigued but I'll my best to keep up."  
  
Kali noted the quick smile at Philips' mention of 'Research Director'.  
  
"I'll keep this as brief as I can. It has come to the Department's attention that the escapees Eight and Eleven having been hunting down ex-employees of Hawkins National Laboratory. They have murdered - four that we know of - men and women and ransacked their homes, taking away personal items like address books and photo albums. Using these items to, in what we now know, find the current locations of past workers at Hawkins Lab."  
  
"Oh my!"  
  
Kali thought Philips' sweet old lady act was a bit much but Read seemed convinced.  
  
"We've contacted the old employees of Hawkins National Laboratory with the advice to take necessary precautions. However, it occurred to me that their venturing into the wider world represents an opportunity for us to recover the Department's lost assets."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"The idea is simple. We set up a trap with a tantalising bait that will lure them in, like mice to cheese in a mousetrap."  
  
"And you want me to be the bait."  
  
"The motives of Eight and Eleven are plain. They wish to find the doctors and executive doctors who worked on them at Hawkins. You were one of the executive doctors at Hawkins. You would represent a great prize for them. I've been told that it's a lot to ask of a dying woman but Doctor Philips you've been a faithful servant to the Department of Energy and a loyal patriot to the United States for many years. Help me, help us, one more time to help secure the future of the greatest country in the world."  
  
"How do you propose to ensnare them?" said Philips after a minute of apparent consideration. Kali was sure the old woman was doing it deliberately.  
  
"The Department will distribute your contact details to the ex-employees whom our analysts have assessed most likely to be attacked in the very near future and then we'll wait. I've talked to the Army and the Navy and they're agreed to supply their considerable resources to our cause. The roads to your residence will be watched. As soon as the ex-Lookfar subjects appear at your house, they will be surrounded by firepower to level a town. Even with the projected increase in Eleven's abilities, we are confident that she'll see resistance as futile and likely not to want to endanger her newfound criminal friends. But if necessary, they will be liquidated as faulty assets."  
  
"That's a remarkable plan," said Philips, her voice filled with awe. She pulled out a handkerchief, previously tucked into a sleeve, covered her mouth and coughed throatily. Read made a disgusted face and took half a step back. Kali noticed that Ten had grown bored with staring at Philips and had moved herself over to the window to gaze at the Chicago skyline. Nine had followed her but was keeping her part of her attention on Philips and Read, presumably ready to pull Ten away and back to their former position when the conversation ended.  
  
Behind the handkerchief covering her mouth and nose, her voice slightly muffled and in between nasty-sounding cough, Philips suggested. "I was thinking perhaps the Department could save on costs if say you allow me to contact those most likely to be attacked. It's coming up to Christmas, I could post a Christmas card to them if you give me your list."  
  
"Yes, you're right. Saving money is good," agreed the interim Director of Project Lookfar. From her vantage point, above and behind the seated doctor, Kali caught a glimpse of soaked up blood on the handkerchief.  
  
"And asking the Army and the Navy to watch my residence for what could be weeks is waste of resources too. You've visited my house before. The living room faces northwards towards a Navy observation post at the other side of North Bay. A couple of men to keep an eye on my house should suffice. When Eight and Eleven turn up inside the house, they will be in plain sight to the men watching," said Philips." I have a simple favour to ask you. Give me an hour with them before the military take them away."  
  
"Yes, you're right. It would be a waste of time and money for the military to keep a round the clock watch on your property. Certainly, you can have an hour with them before the soldiers take them away."  
  
Kali saw Nine's look of surprise at Read's acceptance of Philips' amendments. She frowned at Philips as the old woman coughed uncontrollably. Kali watched as the old woman pulled the handkerchief away from her mouth and made a show of revealing the contents, it was stained with stretchy green and yellow mucus. Nine looked away disgusted.    
  
"Doctor Read, your plan is great one," said Philips as she folded the soiled handkerchief back into sleeve. "It's time that Eight and Eleven should be return back to their rightful place at Millikan."  
  
Read looked around bemused for a fraction of a second but smiled warmly at Philips' words. "Yes, my thoughts exactly!"  
  
The expulsion from Philips' memories was sudden. Kali found herself jerking back as if she'd been punched in the face. She blinked and saw the flat blade of the oar smack the old woman across the head and neck. There was a loud crack, and Philips' head snapped away sharply from the impact. Her body followed and fell to the floor. Kali watched as the doctor's bloody dentures bounced and skittered across the floor, leaving a bloody trail on the scoured floorboards.  
  
"Shit! Shit! She provoked you, dumb-ass! " Kali screamed at Axel.  
  
"What's ‘provoked’?"  
  
"Argh! I'm surrounded by fucking idiots! "  
  
"I'm not going to die?"  
  
"No. She tricked you. She wanted to die tonight."  
  
"You were going to kill her anyway, right?"  
  
Kali knelt by the body, tears running down her face and gently touched the cheek of Doctor Joanna Philips. " You killed my sister."  
  
Axel stared in bafflement at Kali. He had never his leader seen cry before; her make-up streaking down either side of her cheeks. Before he could speak, their attention was drawn to the squeal of wheels recognisable as a motor vehicle setting off from stationary followed rapidly by an almighty bang and screech of compressed metal.  A brief lull before loud urgent voices followed rapid percussive sounds, like multiple firecrackers going off. Then heavy footsteps and Funshine barrelled into the living room and lumbered towards the side-room.  
  
"Mick's dead! She crashed the van into the lead vehicle. They got machine guns! We're trapped. We got a few minutes at most. God! This place is undefendable. Kali? Why're you crying?"  
  
Upon hearing that Mick was dead, Kali found herself thinking about her the butterfly chain her part-time lover. No more secret glances and smiles when the others were around. No more hot kisses. No more of Mick's softness against hers when in bed. No more ....  
  
"Shit, Kali! It's two helicopters!!!" screamed Dottie, jerking Kali out of her revere. " We got to get the fuck out of here!"  
  
Kali looked at the remaining members of her gang. They were looking at her to save their skins. They were out of their depth. Like wide-eyed rabbits caught in the headlights. They needed someone strong. Someone superior. Like her. She welcomed the burden of responsibility and the trust they had in her. Normals. Useful meatshields for her plans of death and destruction forming in her head. Her true calling. A vocation that she temporarily forgotten when tempted by soft emotions of love and belonging.  
  
"Funshine take down those butterfly pictures. Guard them with your life.  
  
“What next?” said Funshine, packing the pictures into his holdall.  
  
"We're going to drag the past out into the light."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. No idea how FBI wanted list was distributed in pre-Internet age.
> 
> 2\. In retrospect, I probably should made Dottie the enforcer during beatings rather than Axel because after re-watching Stranger Things Season 2 again. Axel seems way more cautious and less crazy than I remembered. 
> 
> 3\. If you've read/seen Cronenberg and Rowling then the inspiration for main scenes are obvious: Seven's escape and 'power' and Joanna Philip's memories. 
> 
> 4\. A friend pointed out similarity with X-Men First Class and Apocalypse which I not seen when I wrote first draft. I've now seen the relevant clips on Youtube after writing this. Not exactly a give away given the title of fanfic, no happy ever afters. { Though obviously theirs eventually have a happy ever after. }
> 
> 5\. Envisaged the old doctor with 'imperfect mind control' / 'super persuasive with loopholes' / ' proto-Jedi mind trickery' which I sort of portrayed.
> 
> 7\. Summers, Grey, McCoy, Worthington and Drake. Original roster of the X-Men.
> 
> 8\. Baden Powell. Founder of Scouts. Read a story about where he used drawings of butterflies to hid maps of enemy fortifications/positions.
> 
> 9\. 1984 Band Aid : https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Band_Aid_(band)
> 
> 10\. Rachel Green. Friends.
> 
> 11\. Stranger Things working title was 'Montauk'.
> 
> 12\. Other influences/references: Prestige, Stevie Wonder, U2, Akira (1988).


End file.
